


Reversed

by sherlockthearchangel



Series: Upturned and Reversed [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Mycroft Holmes, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, Hurt/Comfort, Married Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Married Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mpreg, Multi, Mycroft Has An Eating Disorder, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are Parents, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27804835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockthearchangel/pseuds/sherlockthearchangel
Summary: Mycroft slammed the door of the car before stomping into his flat. Greg followed close behind slowly. He sighed as he heard the door to their bedroom slam shut with an echoing boom. Greg grabbed a bottle of Mycroft's favorite whiskey and a glass before locking himself in his office. He solemnly opened it and poured himself more than he should have. His thoughts drifted as he sipped on his drink. They had just gotten back from another adoption meeting that had gone absolutely awful. Even with Mycroft's government powers, there was nothing they could do to sway them.Sequal to Upturned. I would suggest reading Upturned first but you could probably read this by itself.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Upturned and Reversed [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034340
Kudos: 41





	1. Struggling

Mycroft slammed the door of the car before stomping into his flat. Greg followed close behind slowly. He sighed as he heard the door to their bedroom slam shut with an echoing boom. Greg grabbed a bottle of Mycroft's favorite whiskey and a glass before locking himself in his office. He solemnly opened it and poured himself more than he should have. His thoughts drifted as he sipped on his drink.

They had just gotten back from another adoption meeting that had gone absolutely awful. Even with Mycroft's government powers, there was nothing they could do to sway them. The adoption agent declined them (again) since they weren't married, they were older, and both had fairly demanding jobs. This had ended with Mycroft threatening the poor woman, and Greg reprimanding him in the hall. Unfortunately, they both ended up kicked out after having a blowout fight in the waiting room. It was the third agency that they'd been through that year.

Greg glanced down at his watch amazed that it was already well-passed ten at night. Feeling slightly buzzed he left his office in favor of his own bed. As he walked towards the door he frowned as he noticed it was locked. With a sigh of frustration, he grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the couch and settled in for a lonely night.

Mycroft had been sitting staring at the wall for quite awhile desperately trying to organize his mind palace hoping that it would bring him some semblance of peace. He just felt so damn defeated by the whole situation. They'd been trying so hard to have a child by their own means and by adoption. It all seemed to fail. He was starting to wonder if something was wrong with him, and how long it would take before oh so patient Greg left.

He tossed and turned for hours trying to sleep but just felt lonely and guilty. He growled as he pushed himself out of bed and padded towards the living room. Mycroft knelt in front of Greg and gently shook his shoulder. The younger man grunted as he groggily opened his eyes.

My?" Greg asked, confused.

Mycroft smiled sadly, "I can't seem to sleep, please come to bed. I apologize for locking the door."

Greg sat up rubbing his eyes, "yeah, of course, this couch is terrible."

Greg followed his partner into their bedroom where they silently got under the covers. Both men lay there not touching and staring at the ceiling. Mycroft was the first to break the deafening silence.

"Maybe we should just stop." He spits bitterly.

"It'll happen eventually. We'll find a match. We just have to keep trying."

Mycroft said nothing too afraid that if he opened his mouth all the insecurities would spill out. Truly he was wondering if he was cursed, and he was cursing himself for working his life away.

Greg, on the other hand, felt equally as cursed. He was starting to wonder if it was all God’s revenge for his ex-wife’s accident. The strain on their relationship was weighing them both down. Greg knew that the rejection of the adoption came with Mycroft overworking, not eating, and drinking more than usual. His dark moods worried him. He'd experienced his fair share of dealing with Sherlock's dark moods but Mycroft's seemed deeper and more personal.

He wanted to reach over and cuddle his partner but he knew that Mycroft rarely liked physical affection especially when he was this upset. Eventually, they both drifted into an uneasy slumber.

Greg woke the next morning to an empty bed which wasn't unusual as Mycroft got up early to go to work, and got home late. His head pounded and an intense wave of nausea hit his stomach. He jumped from the bed and bolted into the restroom. He gagged into the bowl feeling the bile burn as it came back up. As he stood feeling disgusting and so tired. He looked wearily into the mirror. He needed a shave, a shower, and some coffee.

\------------------  
As he arrived at the scene he was pleasantly surprised to see Sherlock, who was already busy dancing around the body. He approached tiredly and took a large gulp of his coffee. Sherlock's head shot up as he watched Lestrade walk onto the scene.

"Ah, Detective!" Sherlock spun towards him causing his coat to billow in the air. "It's good to see you!"

"Sherlock, it's been a while! I thought you were retired?"

"I was- I am. Mya is with John's sister for the day and John insisted that I find something else to do for the day." Sherlock explained with a grimace.

"How is my goddaughter?" Lestrade asked as he retrieved a file from Donovan's outstretched hand.

"Wonderful as always! She is, however, starting to mumble something that sounds vaguely like the word fuck." Sherlock peered over Lestrade's shoulder at the file, "I've caught John trying to teach her curse words. I think he’s still mad her first word was Dad instead of Papa. I swear he’s so close to sleeping on the couch."

“Ah well, it could be worse,” Lestrade said distracted by the file. “So what’s the deal with the body?”

“Woman in her early 30s, dead by strangulation, probably killed by an ex-lover. The rope marks suggest that it was a crime of passion considering the amount of strength used. The marks also point to a male killer.” Sherlock rambled off as he put his fingers together in deep thought.

“Anderson, do we have an I.D.?”

The forensic scientist stood from beside the body and placed a nail clipping into a small bag. “No, but we’re gonna send a blood sample. She doesn’t have a wallet on her so we can assume this was a robbery.”

Sherlock scoffed, “were you not listening to me, Anderson?”

The man stared daggers at him, “I was in fact, you said it was a crime of passion and a strong male. Wouldn’t it make sense to consider both options individually? Fatherhood seems to have clouded your judgment.” Anderson smirked at Sherlock’s glare.

Lestrade moved away from the two bickering men to go lean against his car and drink his coffee. He laid the folder on the roof of the car and began flipping through it. He rested a hand on his head still feeling incredibly ill. He jumped as a light hand touched his shoulder.

“Are you alright sir?” Donovan's concerned eyes bored into his skull.

“Yes, it was just a late night.”

Donovan laughed, “if the iceman is anything like his brother I imagine every night is a late night.”

Lestrade frowned at the insult, “no, it’s not like that at all. Now can you call the morgue and have them come get the body.”

“Yes, of course.” Donovan slapped the hood of the car before walking off.

As she disappeared back into the crowd of officers Lestrade closed his eyes in an attempt to stave off a new wave of nausea. He smacked his head lightly on the roof in frustration before lurking off behind a tree to upchuck his coffee. He hadn't had a hangover this bad since his wife left him, and it was a little disturbing considering he didn’t actually drink all that much last night. He was unaware of Sherlock’s eyes staring at him from a distance as he half continued to argue with Anderson.

He reached into the glove compartment of his car and retrieved a box of hidden cigarettes and a lighter. He knew Mycroft would be mad if he came home smelling like smoke but he didn’t care at the moment. He felt pure relief as the smoke finally filled his lungs. He exhaled slowly letting the nicotine seep into his system.

“Greg?” Lestrade jumped as he opened his eyes to see Sherlock’s intense face inches from his. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” He dismissed him.

“You’re lying. Something is wrong. You can either tell me or I’ll just figure it out myself.”

Lestrade sighed as he stomped out the cigarette and ground it into the tar with his heel. “Sherlock, it’s honestly none of your business.” He snapped feeling slightly guilty with his harshness.

“It’s my brother. What did he do now?”

“For god’s sake, nothing! I’m telling you to just leave it alone.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up in shock before he walked off back towards the scene. Lestrade spent the rest of his day holed up in his office filling out paperwork and organizing evidence. He continued to have bouts of sickness throughout the day. Eventually, after the sun had gone down and the rest of the staff had left the building he decided to leave. He grabbed his laptop bag and the box of evidence before heading out to his car. He tossed the bag and box into the backseat before pulling his phone out of his pants pocket. He called Mycroft, but the older man didn’t answer.

He groaned in frustration before getting into the car. He stopped briefly to pick up takeout before arriving back home. He was pleasantly surprised to see Mycroft’s car already in the driveway. As he entered the house he, however, became concerned as all the lights were off.

"My?" He called as he set the food on the counter. He sighed after getting no response. He made his way into the bedroom where he found Mycroft sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to the door.

"Gregory, we need to talk." Mycroft's voice was small and hoarse.

"What's going on, Mycroft?" Greg moved to stand in front of his partner.

Mycroft's eyes dropped to the floor, "I think you need to leave, Greg." He drew in a shaky breath, "I need time, and I need space."

Greg felt his knees weaken and he reached for the bed to sit down, "you’re leaving me?" He whispered softly.

Mycroft's head shot up from the ground, "no, I just need some time alone. I need you to understand that this isn't easy for me."

Greg felt anger rise in his chest, "you think this is easy for me, and how is this not leaving me?"

Mycroft stood from the bed before moving towards the door, "I told you, Gregory, I need time. I don't want to fight about this."

Greg stood approaching quickly, “please don’t do this, My. Please don’t make me leave.” Tears sprang in his eyes as he reached for Mycroft’s hand, but only received an icy stare. “We can get through this, I promise. I love you.”

“Greg, stop. Please just go. You’re making this harder than it needs to be. I’m not leaving you but we’re both hurting here and being in this house and sharing the same bed is just not helping either of us right now. I love you, but we’re drowning here.” Mycroft closed the door behind him leaving Greg standing in tears.

Greg fell backward onto the bed and grasped at the sheets around him suddenly feeling intense Deja Vu. He couldn't seem to breathe, he needed to leave and he needed to leave now. He didn't grab anything but his keys before bolting from the house and into his car. He drove with silent tears running down his cheeks. As he pulled into the parking garage he began smashing his fist against the steering wheel in anger. After several minutes of heavy breathing and frustrated tears, he stumbled into his old studio apartment.

The place was dusty and filled with half-full boxes and not much else. He flipped on the lights and stood awkwardly in the doorway. It had been over five months since he first stepped foot in this flat. He and Mycroft had discussed it several months ago and decided that they should move in together, which they did. Mycroft, however, insisted that Greg keep the old flat as a personal office or something, or a rental. Greg readily agreed but most of his stuff was still in boxes collecting dust because they had been busy working and dealing with Sherlock and John.

Greg flipped open a box sitting on the couch and began pulling clothing from it until he found a suitable pair of sweatpants, and an old ratty t-shirt. After changing he went straight to bed not even bothering with a blanket or pillow as he was just too tired.


	2. A Case Begins

Ten years prior

Lestrade stumbled into the house long past midnight feeling slightly tipsy and grinning like an idiot. As he unlocked the door he was confused to find the living room lights were still on. He froze as he saw his wife sitting on the couch with her arms crossed. He nervously stepped closer.

"Hey, what are you still doing up?" He asked as he hung his coat on the hook.

"Greg, don't play stupid, I saw you." She snapped back.

"What?" He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"I followed you, I saw you with that man!" She stood now screaming. "How could you do this to us! We have two kids, Greg!"

He fell heavily onto an armchair, "I never met for you to find out."

"So you were just gonna sneak around forever?" She pointed a finger at his chest.

"No- I just- I don't know!" He yelled back, standing again.

She began sobbing and attempted to cover her face with her hands. Greg stepped forward to comfort her but was roughly pushed away. “did you ever love me?"

"Of course, I still love you!"

"You've been sleeping with a man, Greg!"

"Please just sit down, and we can talk about this." He urged. She glared at him before taking a seat.

"Please, explain! Explain why, you, a gay man, decided to marry and have children with me!" She screeched.

"I'm not...gay," he whispered.

"Then what is this?" she gestured between the two of them.

"I just felt like I was missing something and that I needed to explore these feelings I'm having. It doesn't mean I don't love you but I just wanna know why I feel this way and what it means… I feel lost."

She sighed and all the anger faded from her features, "then I think you should go. I think you need to leave and figure it out. I love you, Greg, but if our life isn't making you happy then I want you to go be happy."

"Are you leaving me?" Dread filled his thoughts.

"No- I don't know- but I need time to understand this for myself."

"Can I still see the kids?" He asked terrified of the answer.

"I'm pissed at you but I'm not gonna stop you from seeing our kids. For god sakes Greg, they're a few months old I don't want to confuse them."

"Okay, okay, I'll leave. If that's what it takes to fix this."

She shook her head in disappointment "This marriage isn't broken, you are."

\--------------  
Now

Greg sat at the bar tapping the side of his glass but not drinking it, the smell made him wanna barf. He waited patiently for John, just staring at the television but not watching it. John and himself met up every Friday night at the local pub to watch football. He was nearly asleep when John came in and took a seat next to him.

"Hey, mate." John greeted as he quickly ordered a glass of rum.

"Oh, hey." He tiredly replied.

John frowned, "you know if you're not feeling it tonight we don't have to do this."

"No, I need this, it's been a hellish week." He replied, sipping at his drink and nearly gagging at the taste.

"Yeah, I heard Sherlock and Mycroft talking about some kind of fight you two had the other day?"

Greg groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, "he kicked me out."

John sucked in a sharp breath, "does that mean, you're over?"

Greg sighed and leaned forward placing his elbows on the bar and leaning into his hands. "He said no, but I can't help but feel like it's a lie. Listen, John, can we just watch the game, I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Yeah, of course."

They both settled in for the night to watch the game. For a Friday night, the bar was oddly empty only containing the few regulars and the drunks. By the time the game was halfway over John had gone through two pints, and Greg still had a full glass.

“You’ve barely touched your drink. I can order you something else if you’d like.” John offered as he pushed his empty glass away, and pulled the fresh one closer.

“No, I think I just want water, I haven’t been feeling that great lately and that drink tastes like sewage,” Greg explained as he turned his attention back to the game.

John scoffed into his beer causing it to slosh over the edge, “you think you might be pregnant?”  
Greg’s eyes shot wide open and he turned back to John. “Jesus, Greg, It was a joke, relax.”

Greg’s stance softened, “you’re right, sorry. Just been a weird few days.”

Before John could reply Greg’s phone vibrated on the bar beside him. Greg rolled his eyes before flipping it over to see who it was (secretly hoping it was Mycroft), it was Donovan.

“Aw, Shit, I’m sorry John they found another body, and unfortunately for me, it’s connected to that Jane Doe we found on Tuesday.” He pulled out his wallet and slapped a twenty on the counter.

“No worries, the games almost over anyway. Do you want me to send Sherlock along?”

“If he’s not busy that would be great. Something tells me this case is gonna be a tough one.” Greg pocketed his wallet before leaving the pub.

\------------  
The scene was absolutely packed with reporters that were being held back by several officers. He found this a bit odd but it all made sense when he saw Sherlock’s curly hair from above the crowd. He pushed through the crowd and made his way towards the body that was being blocked by several police cars parked around it. He nearly fainted as he saw a stroller sitting nearby.

“Sherlock? Tell me you didn’t.” He scolded as he turned towards the stroller.

“Mrs. Hudson was out and John was drinking. I promise she won’t be a distraction, you know she’s an angel!”

“Sherlock, you cannot bring a baby onto a crime scene with a dead body ten feet away!” Lestrade hissed, “get her out of here!”

“Oh don’t be dramatic Gregory she can’t see anything.”

“That’s not the point- oh sod this I have a job to do.” Lestrade stomped over to Donovan and Anderson.

He cringed as he looked at the poor man who was dead on the pavement. He looked so young and couldn’t have been older than thirty. He held out his hand for the report without even looking at Donovan beside him. She handed it over before walking over to where Sherlock was distracted entertaining Mya. Lestrade flipped through the report and was dismayed to find that the cause of death was the same, and the state of the body proved that he was killed around the same time as the woman. This time however they had an I.D., young Dan Rowe, a lawyer. As Lestrade continued to read he was not surprised that he was the husband of the first victim.

Sherlock ran back over with panic filling his eyes, “we got to work fast, the daughter is missing!”

“Well, shit. Do you have any leads?” Lestrade asked as he began walking the perimeter of the area.

“No, I need time but I can’t have Mya around while I work. She gets frightened when I'm in my mind palace and I don’t have anyone to watch her.”

“Can’t your brother watch her?” He asked, slightly annoyed.

Sherlock shook his head sadly, “No one has heard from him since Wednesday morning.”

Lestrade sighed in frustration, “as concerned about that as I am right now, we need to find this little girl tonight.” Anderson, who was standing nearby, casually walked up to them with the baby in his arms. He almost laughed at the look on Sherlock’s face as his mortal enemy held his daughter.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Sherlock snapped as he reached for his child.  
Anderson stepped back with a grin. “I’ll watch her.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “what do you want?”

“Nothing, I’m just doing you a favor. As annoying as you are we need to catch a killer, and honestly things go quicker with you on the force.”

“Okay...well… I guess we should go then…” He gently kissed Mya on the nose before leaving her with Anderson and following Lestrade to the car. Once they were both seated in the car Lestrade gave Sherlock an odd look. "You trust him?"

Sherlock laughed, "I'm hoping that what he lacks in intellect he makes up for in babysitting. Anyways, I need to think so please do shut up." Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned back into the seat.

Lestrade said nothing in response as he just busied himself on his phone. He sent a quick text to Mycroft.

'no ones heard from you since Wednesday, are u ok? -GL'

'Gregory, I am fine. Please do not contact me until further notice. -MH'

'My, don't do that. I'm your partner not a member of parliament. -GL'

Receiving no further response he started the car and began slowly circling the block hoping that he might spot something while Sherlock organized his thoughts. After four rounds Sherlock's eyes flew open and he smiled devilishly.

"It would make sense to check the house, wouldn't it?"

"Sherlock, there are already people there. What do you expect will be there?"

"The girl, Lestrade. Think about it! If a killer comes in the middle of the night and takes your parents you're going to hide because the sounds scare you." Sherlock explained with excitement in his features.

"Where would she hide?"

"I don't know, that's why I need to look!" He shouted back. Lestrade nodded before contacting Donovan for the location and plugging the address into the GPS. He was skeptical about the girl being there but he trusted Sherlock enough to check anyway.

The car had barely stopped before Sherlock bolted out of the car and into the house nearly pushing another office over in the process. Lestrade followed quickly not bothering to turn off the car or shut the door. As he entered the home he found Sherlock pulling books off the shelves like a mad man.

"Sherlock, this is a crime scene!" He yelled as books flew across the room.

"And I'm solving a crime!" He yelled back. "No one murders two people without intention and I have an odd feeling that there's a secret in this house." He moved to begin feeling along with the bricks in the walls, "now if I could just find some kind of lock or trigger of some kind!"

Lestrade began treading along the wooden floor stopping to listen for hollowness or creaks in the boards. He heard Sherlock make a grunting noise as the other man began pushing against the wall. He turned right on time to see the wall give way to a hall. Sherlock reached into his coat for a flashlight and began slowly making his way down the dark hallway. Lestrade (not thinking about it) followed close behind.

The hall was short and the end showed a large metal door that was clearly heavily barricaded. Sherlock knocked lightly on the door and frowned as he heard a frightened whimper. He knocked again a little louder.

"Hello? We're the police, we're here to help you."

"Go away!" A small voice shouted. Despite the situation, Lestrade let out a breath of relief that the little girl sounded okay.

"I'm sorry but we need you to come out. We aren't here to hurt you."

They held their breath as the locks on the door began clicking open one by one. The door swung open and a little girl’s head peeked from the crack of the door. Sherlock squatted so that he was eye-level with the child. “Hello, my name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. What is your name?”

"Gwen." The small voice (Gwen) said as she opened the door further revealing herself. She was pale with red hair and green eyes. She stepped forward holding her bloody arm to her chest. She couldn't have been older than five. Sherlock, in a comforting manner, that Greg had only seen a handful of times opened his arms for a protective hug. Gwen finally realized that the man was not a threat readily launched into his hug and buried her face into his thick blue coat.

Lestrade stood awkwardly nearby as he watched the interaction. The young girl looked towards Lestrade her face red with tears before whispering, "where's my mum?" Lestrade could've sworn his heart nearly busted into a million. Of course, this wasn't the first time he had to deliver this news but the poor girl was five years old.

Lestrade knelt before the young girl, "I'm sorry sweetheart, she's with the angels now." He felt his own tears cascade down his cheeks. The young girl bolted into Lestrade's arms instead. It was bizarre to have a young child put so much faith in a stranger.

Lestrade finally stood sweeping the young girl into his arms. As they exited the hall he called loudly for an ambulance and set the young girl onto the ground. The ambulance sirens grew louder in the distance as did the voices around him. He stepped away from the crowd to lean against a wall.

All the noise and the constant stress was making his head spin. Someone was asking him a question, Donovan he thinks but his vision was blurring and his ears were ringing. Lestrade moved on unsteady feet to the outside of the house away from the echoing voices and the young girls crying. He jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder, he froze trying to focus his eyes on the figure in front of him. It’s Sherlock he thinks, it’s someone tall, tall- tall and fuzzy?

“Greg? Greg, can you hear me?” Sherlock grabbed both of his shoulders struggling to hold the other man up.

He blinked several times before attempting an answer, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Go to the girl!” he stammered as he pushed the arms away but in doing so he lost his balance and was greeted face first by the concrete.


	3. Maybe Baby

Sherlock paced the hallway desperately trying to call Mycroft but his moronic brother refused to answer the phone or respond to any of his text messages. He leaned against the wall next to the door to Greg’s room and growled in frustration as he pulled at his hair. He wasn’t allowed into Greg’s room as he wasn’t family or emergency contact, only Mycroft was. John walked down the hall holding two cups of coffee and scoffed as he observed his husband’s behavior

“Sherlock, he’s fine. He was just a bit dehydrated is all. He’ll be released in a few hours after he gets some fluids.”

“He passed out and busted his nose on the street, how is that okay?”

John went to reply but the door swung open and a young nurse exited with a smile, “he is asking for you boys.”

They both entered the room, wondering what exactly they were about to find. Greg was covered in a thin hospital gown, with a heart monitor attached via finger, and an I.V. line trailed from his arm to a large fluid bag. Greg smiled wearily as the two other men entered the room.

“So, how’s Gwen? Is she okay?” he asked as he fiddled with the I.V. line around him.

Sherlock frowned, “she got a scratch but it wasn’t from the killer, she hurt herself unlocking the tunnel to the panic room. You on the other hand not so much he gestured to the bandage across his nose.” Sherlock took a seat on the edge of the bed, “what the hell was that Lestrade?”

“I’m a little worn out is all. I haven’t been sleeping great these past few nights. Trust me I know this doesn’t look great, but I am fine.” He insisted as he shifted the pillows behind him.

“Greg, I think you should take next week off,” John spoke up from where he sat across the room in a plastic chair.

“No.” Lestrade glared at John, “I have to catch that killer.”

“There’s plenty of other detectives who can take the case!” John leaned forward in his chair.

Sherlock looked at John with a smirk, “what?” John snapped slightly annoyed that his husband didn’t seem to be taking the same stance.

“Why doesn’t he just work from home. We can be his eyes, and he can watch Mya and Gwen.” Sherlock suggested as he stood from where he was seated.

Greg jumped forward, “why do I have to watch the girl, isn’t she supposed to be in a home or something now?”

“Unfortunately, she has to stay in police custody until further notice and she seems to have taken a liking to you. She completely freaked out when you passed out.” Sherlock explained. “Now excuse us while John and I go fetch Mya from Anderson. The girl should be released soon from questioning. I’ll bring her by your flat tomorrow.”

“This week has been an absolute shit show,” he grumbled as the two other men left the room.

He laid there for several minutes watching the I.V. fluids drip into the tubing and flow into his veins. He pondered the strange situation he somehow managed to land himself in. He hoped that his hospitalization would lure Mycroft back to him, but it proved false. He almost preferred the hospital bed to go back to his own lonely flat. At least the hospital was filled with noise and food. He was nearly drifting into a nice nap when the nurse entered the room again.

"Hello, Mr. Lestrade. I would like to discuss your blood test results with you." She put on a toothy smile that made him cringe.

"Blood test? When did you draw blood?" He was kind of annoyed at the intrusion.

"It's standard procedure when patients come in the unconscious. It's typically the first thing we do." She explained as she took a seat and flipped open the chart.

"So what, do I have high cholesterol or something?" He laughed lightly to hide his mild concern.

"No, but I must ask. Have you been recently pregnant or suffered a miscarriage?"

"Uh, no."

She stood and flipped the chart closed, "the blood test showed high levels of Hcg and I would like to do a urine sample and possibly an ultrasound just to be sure. We will also talk about some options and other information as this is a high-risk pregnancy considering your age."

Lestrade paled as he struggled to comprehend what he was being told, "are you saying… I'm pregnant?"

"Yes, but we like to do all tests to confirm. I’m going to leave a collection cup with you and you can leave a urine sample with the front desk before you leave.” The nurse left the room quickly clearly not wanting to further the conversation.

Lestrade fell heavily back against the pillows and was trying hard to control his panicked breathing. He rolled onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut trying to burn away reality. There was no way this was happening to him. He almost laughed at himself for the inconvenient timing. They'd been trying for a baby for so long and as soon as Mycroft had called a quits his body fucked with him. He could have sworn it was the universe's sad joke. He reached for his phone beside him and pulled up Mycroft's contact.

'My, we need to talk. -GL'

'Not now. -MH'

'Please, it’s important. -GL'

'Not now. -MH'

He tossed the phone back on the table next to him in frustration. This was quickly becoming out of hand. He was getting incredibly sick of Holmes's stubbornness. If this had been a month ago he would’ve been overjoyed, but he just felt bitter anger, and sadness now. He stared at the white ceiling trying to keep the tears at bay.  
\-----------

After three more hours of being in the hospital, getting prescriptions, and information sheets he was finally home. He couldn’t wait to just crawl into bed and go back to sleep. He tossed the bag of papers and medications onto the couch before flopping onto the bed. He had found himself in a nice nap, nice enough that he wasn’t even dreaming. He nearly smacked his head on the headboard when he heard someone’s voice next to him.

“What the hell?” he yelled as Sherlock stood directly next to him. “How did you get in?”

“The door was unlocked. " Sherlock explained as he gently set a bag of what Greg assumed was baby stuff on the coffee table. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes as he looked around the flat. He jumped as he realized that Sherlock was not the only one in his home. He had brought along Gwen, and Mya. He nearly smacked himself for forgetting that he was now the resident babysitter. With all the chaos and pregnancy he had already forgotten in such a short amount of time. Mya was fast asleep in her cradle while the young girl was staring out the window.

“Oh god, Sherlock I forgot that I agreed to this.” He complained as he made his way towards the coffee maker. When his hands reached the machine he jumped back like he had been burned. He made a mental note to put decaf coffee on his grocery list.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, of course, I thought I saw a bug, but I didn't. I think I’m just tired.” Greg grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned against the counter, “so what’s the deal?”

“I’m gonna go back to the scenes and have a look around again, and John is gonna search the house.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Watch the kids. I’ll pay you handsomely with some takeout tonight.” He grabbed his coat off the hook before heading towards the door, “oh, by the way. Don’t think that I don’t know.”

Greg’s mouth hung open in shock as Sherlock pounced away through the door. He moved towards the baby making sure that she was still completely asleep. As he looked towards Gwen he saw that she was still staring out the window with glassy eyes.

“Hey, are you hungry?” he asked, not entirely sure how to deal with a child of this age.

She looked back at him with a strange look, “hungry?”

“Yes, do you want food? I don’t have a lot as I don’t actually live here but I have some crackers and canned soup.” He opened a cupboard and began sifting through the few boxes and cans.

“What kind of soup?” She was suddenly interested in the offer.

“Well, I've got tomato and chicken noodle.” He pulled both cans from the cabinet and showed them to her. Gwen pointed to the tomato. “Okay, lemme just heat it up for ya.” Greg pulled a bowl from another cabinet before slopping the soup into the bowl and putting it into the microwave.

He pulled out a chair from the table and motioned for her to sit. She hopped onto the chair and began fiddling with the hem of the table cloth. Greg removed a second bottle of water before handing it to her. He sat across from and leaned back into the chair.

“So how old are you, kid?”

“Seven. I know I look small for my age…” She sipped at the water.

“I suppose yeah... You seem to be handling this very well.”

“My parents told me this would happen eventually. They’ve been training me for this.”

Greg sat up and leaned forward with his eyes squinted in confusion, “training you?”

“Yes, they said I'm special, and that people want me.”

“Special in what way?” He could hear his own heartbeat loud in his ears.

“I can look at someone and know everything about them.” She explained with a proud look on her face. Greg thought about this for a second, it sounded a lot like the talents of both of the Holmes brothers.

The microwave beeped loudly and Greg stood to retrieve the soup, “so tell me about Sherlock then?” He placed the bowl in front of her.

“He’s a detective, but not a real one not like you. He’s married to a man, he’s been tortured in the past, has one sibling, a former drug user, and a parent.” She listed the items with a boring look.

“How-how do you know all that besides you know the parent and husband part?”

“Well, it’s a lot to explain. He’s very stiff when he moves up and down which points to trauma on the back, he has scars that line his arms, and I heard him mention a brother.”

“You’re so… smart.”

“Thank you, I love to read. I read everything!”

Greg frowned slightly, “you’d really love my partner, he’s a lot like you. He has lots of books. I have books here but I’m afraid that they aren’t terribly interesting.”

“I don’t care what it’s about!” she excitedly exclaimed.

Greg smiled and led her to a box of books by the couch. They spent the evening chatting, playing cards, and playing with Mya who was starting to get fussy without her dad. It was nearly nine when Sherlock slipped through the door with John in tow.

“Sorry, we’re late. Sherlock would not stop picking at the bushes around the scene. He looked absolutely insane.” John explained as he walked towards his daughter who was beginning to cry.

“It was an absolutely pointless endeavor,” Sherlock complained as he set the bag of take-out on the counter.

“Well, it wasn’t completely a bust because Gwen, here, is apparently exactly what the killer was after…. It’s weird she’s exactly like you, Sherlock. She’s smart like you.”

“Interesting. It does make sense, it gives us a lead on figuring out a complete motive. Do you mind if I question her further?" He looked towards Gwen who was getting kind of annoyed. Didn't they know that she was actually in the room too?

Greg scratched the back of his head, "tomorrow, it's getting late."

"That is understandable, well I suppose we should leave you to enjoy your meal. Thank you again for watching Mya. You sure you're okay with Gwen staying with you?"

"Yeah, of course. To be honest it's been nice to have company."

John had picked up Mya and her bag before leaving the flat. Sherlock, however, lingered in the flat, "congratulations, by the way."

"What?"

"The pregnancy of course!"

"Oh, yeah, thanks I guess. I should've known you'd figure it out."

"Well, I suppose I should go before John gets impatient with me." Sherlock left in a hurry leaving Gwen and him alone for the night.

They ate the Chinese while watching crap telly, and eventually, they both grew tired. Greg tucked her into his own bed before pulling blankets from a box and settling onto the couch.

He woke to a meek knocking on his door. He groaned as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As he looked over at the clock he noted it was slightly past 6 am.

He flung open the door, pissed that someone was waking him up this early in the morning. His anger however faded as he took in the person before him.

"Mycroft?"


	4. Figuring It Out

Mycroft's Week

As soon as he heard Greg slam the door to their shared flat he let the tears freely fall from his eyes and onto his marble desk. It was for the best he told himself. Greg was miserable with him and he needed time to figure it out for himself. He brought the bottle up to his lips not even bothering with a glass. He found himself pacing the flat and yelling at everything that reminded him of Greg. He cursed their bed, the ugly stupid lamp that Greg insisted he buy. He even nearly smashed the tea mugs that he notoriously never cleaned or put away.

He didn't remember how but he found himself sitting on the floor of Greg's office balling up papers on his desk and throwing them at the photo of them he had on the wall. God, he hated that photo. Greg insisted that they take it on a holiday in Spain. It pictured both of them smiling on the balcony of a hotel room. Mycroft hit his own face square in the head with a piece of a traffic report. God, he loved that photo.

This was definitely the side of him that not a soul ever saw. He stumbled drunkenly to the bed and passed out with his head hanging off the edge. He woke up to the blaring sound of his alarm clock and an incredible stiffness in his neck. He smacked the clock with more force than was needed. He snatched his phone off the nightstand before making his way to the bathroom. He sat the phone on the edge of the counter as he reached for painkillers in the cabinet. Just as he grabbed them and brought them down to eye-level his elbow hit the counter causing the phone to slide helplessly into the toilet.

Whelp. He fished it out with a bag before just tossing it into the trash. He can get another one at some point. He used the home phone to call out of work for the next week and transferred all his texts and calls to Anthea.

Oddly enough he actually enjoyed it for a little while. He mainly just binge-watched old films and drank but it was relaxing. He wished Greg was with him though. Eventually, though it soon became not fun on Wednesday. He hadn't eaten since Monday night when Greg left. The thought of food made him feel disgusted, and he reasoned with himself that he could lose a few pounds.

On Friday night he had been laying in bed wrapped in several blankets. He was so tired and so cold. He knew that these were the results of not eating in the past four days. He didn't really care. He jumped at the banging of the front door and lept out of bed. He stomped over to the door and swung it open.

"Deal with this!" Anthea forcefully pressed a new phone to his chest and walked away.

Mycroft, confused, glanced down at the phone and hit the button. He understood immediately why she was so upset. The phone contained dozens of messages from his younger brother demanding answers and demanding that he see Greg. He groaned in frustration before scrolling past all the messages to the emails. He got confused when he saw an email from the bank. He hadn't spent any money this week and all the bills weren't due until the end of the month. He opened it and was concerned to see a fifty-pound charge from the chemists. He could only assume it was Gregory.

He closed the email and went to explore his missed calls. He was confused when he noticed several missed calls from Barts. He immediately called the number back curious if he could get any answers. He was kind of surprised when a young woman answered the phone.

“Hi, this is Denise at St. Barts! What can I do for you?”

“I was calling in regards to several calls I received last night. My name is Mycroft Holmes”

He tapped his foot against the floor as he listened to the sound of her typing. “Oh, Mr. Holmes. You were contacted as the emergency contact of Gregory Lestrade. He was released around five a.m this morning. Per patient confidentiality, I can’t tell you anything about the procedures that were done.”

He straightened his posture before preparing his “politician” voice. “You have no idea who I am. I strongly suggest that you tell me whatever I request or I will force it from you.”

“Is that a threat Mr. Holmes?”

In the end, he didn't force it out of her. He knew that Greg would be extremely upset if he used his power to get personal information. He chose to grunt in frustration and hang up the phone. He slumped onto the couch feeling a sickness form in his stomach. What could be wrong with Greg? He thought back to the week before. He shamed himself for not paying enough attention to Greg to notice anything. It's possible that Greg told him and he didn't listen. Was he terminally ill? It seemed like the only answer he could think of that made sense. Greg was a heavy smoker, and cancer and heart conditions ran in his family. He hoped he was wrong, very very wrong.

\---------------

Mycroft looked worn out and tired as hell. His eyes held dark bags under them and he didn't appear to have shaved in several days. He was leaning heavily on his umbrella and was shaking slightly. Maybe because he was cold or sick, but Greg couldn’t tell.

"Gregory, I um," he cleared his throat, "I apologize for my absence, I left everything with Anthea for a while."

"You didn't have your phone?" He moved into the hall closing the door behind him so they wouldn't wake up Gwen.

"No, I left it with Anthea as I just told you. When I got it back however my bank informed me of a charge on my card for the chemist."

Greg's eyes shot open. He didn't even think about it when he used Mycroft's credit card to pay for the prescriptions. "Shit, My, I'm sorry I'll pay you back!" He explained as he leaned against the door.

"No need, I was just concerned. I also had several missed calls from the hospital." He ran a finger over the plaster on Greg's nose, "Gregory what happened?"

"I've had the flu and I got a little dehydrated and dizzy."

Mycroft's lips purchased into a stern line, "you're lying to me.”

“You’ve clearly already figured it out, so why are you interrogating me?”

Mycroft stared at him with sad eyes, “I need to hear it from you. My deduction may be wrong.”

He sighed, “I passed out a crime scene. I thought maybe I was just stressed or something but god- I don't know.” he laughed mockingly, "I really don’t know how to say this but I...I, uh… I'm pregnant, My."

“Are you serious?” Mycroft stared at him with tear-filled eyes.

“Yes.” He wasn't even aware he had started to cry before he was wrapped in his partner's arms. Mycroft had dropped the umbrella to the floor letting it make an echoing thump.

"It's alright, Greg." Mycroft ran a comforting hand through the younger man's hair, "this is a good thing. It's what we wanted isn't it?"

Greg buried his face into the crook of his neck, "I just thought you weren't coming back."

"I said I wasn't leaving you. " He squeezed the hug tighter hoping to enforce his words. "What did the doctor say? There must be precautions because of your age."

"I have to take medical leave next month until the baby is born. They think it's best that I spend as much time laying down and resting as possible. They want to discuss an extended stay in the hospital for the last two months. I find it ridiculous honestly, I'm only three years older than Sherlock and he wasn't this high risk."

Mycroft let go of him and stepped back, "Greg, if it's too much for you we can have it terminated. Your health comes first, your happiness comes first."

Greg shook his head furiously, "no, no I want this. It’s what will make me happy. You're happy right, My?"

"Overjoyed. I just feared you were sick, and that would've devastated me." The words stuck in his throat.

He looked into Mycroft’s tired eyes, “Where have you been, My?”

“I was home but I was alone last night when Sherlock wouldn’t stop pestering Anthea.”

Greg seemed to stare over Mycroft's shoulder at the wall, "Greg, what's wrong?"

"What if I've already hurt them?" He shifted his gaze to the floor feeling immense shame. "I spent the past two months drinking myself to sleep, and I'm a smoker."

"Greg, if this baby is anything like you, then they'll be fine. Also, I'm taking your car to the cleaners. It smells awful." Greg gave him a wide-eyed look like a deer caught in headlights. "You're mistaken if you think I don't smell the cigarettes on you when you come home, and your nails are yellowing again. Can we please go back home now, I haven't been able to sleep very well without you."

“I kind of have a guest over, right now.” He laughed at Mycroft's expression. “I’m kind of in the middle of a case. I’ve been watching the daughter of the victims.”

“Oh, well I suppose she should come then. I am the British government after all, who better to protect a child.” He smirked as he reached around Greg to open the door. “I also think we should get used to having a child around.”

“I think you’ll enjoy her company,” Greg explained, "She's like you."

"What do you mean she's like me?" Mycroft bent down to grab the umbrella from where it had fallen on the ground.

"She does that whole deduction thing that you and Sherlock do." Greg honestly hadn't thought much of it as he wasn't surprised that another super genius entered his life.

"She what?" Mycroft leaned heavily on his umbrella, a wild look appearing in his eyes. "I must meet this child now. As far as I'm concerned the only people with that kind of intelligence are Sherlock, Moriarty, and myself. This is absolutely astounding!"

"Mycroft, please. Remember that just because this little girl is a genius doesn't mean she doesn't have feelings. She just lost both her parents in a horrific way. Please do not interrogate her right now." Mycroft nodded in agreement as Greg opened the door to his flat.

Mycroft felt a whole new wave of guilt come over him as he examined the flat. It was clear that Greg had begun unpacking the boxes and putting the flat back together. It made his heartache to think that his partner really truly believed their relationship was over. It was far from comforting, it almost felt like the dorm of a college student.

He felt a weird calmness come over him as a young girl with red hair approached him. He reached out to shake her hand automatically as he was unsure how to greet a young child. The only child that he had really been around was Sherlock’s daughter, and he didn’t have to impress her as she was a baby after all.

“Hello, my name is Mycroft, and you are?”

To his surprise, she took his hand and shook it with a strange amount of confidence, “Gwen Rowe.”

“Hm, you’re quite mature for your age.”

“That’s what everyone says. Am I going to an orphanage now?” She looked sadly at the ground.

“Oh no, I would actually like to offer you a stay at my home, well, Gregory and I’s home. I understand that you have had a few very traumatic days. I will do my best to provide you with anything you deem necessary.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Gregory, do you mind if we take your car, I actually took the tube here.”

"You, Mycroft Holmes, the British government, took the tube?"

"Yes, I enjoy it sometimes." He gave a sheepish look.

It was two hours later that Mycroft, Greg, and Gwen had finally made it into the flat. Gwen was immediately busy pulling books off the shelves in Mycroft's office. Mycroft was assisting Greg with unpacking his clothes. The older man was still shaking and seemed uneasy on his feet as he folded the clothes and placed them into the drawers.

"My?" Greg placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, love?"

"Are you sick?" Greg placed his hand on his forehead and pulled back with a confused look. "You don't have a fever."

"I assure you I am perfectly fine."

Greg moved the suitcase from the bed and patted the bed. "Lay down."

"What? Why?" Mycroft looked extremely offended.

"You look like you can barely stand! Now lay down. I'm gonna go make you some toast and tea." Greg pulled back the covers and pointed to the spot.

Mycroft sighed before crawling into bed. Sherlock would get a laugh out of Mycroft's submission to someone. Greg nodded, pleased with his work before heading out of the bedroom. Mycroft began to panic when the door shut. There was no way that he could let Greg see him eat. The thought of food made his stomach cramp. He hadn't eaten in a while and he was sure he'd barf at a single bite. When his partner re-entered the room he felt dread fill his body.

Greg set the tea and toast on the nightstand before circling to his own side of the bed. "I put plenty of sugar in it, don't worry."

"My stomach isn't feeling the best. I think I'll just have the tea, for now, thank you, Gregory." Mycroft lifted the tea and took slow sips as Greg watched him intently.

"Yes, Greg?"

"Mycroft, please eat the toast you look like you need it." Mycroft cringed at hearing his full name.

"Greg- I really am not hungry." He hoped to God that he wouldn't press him further.

"Fine, okay. Just let me know if you need anything, I'm going to check on Gwen." Greg's tone made it clear that the conversation was far from over. As Greg left the room Mycroft let out a sigh of relief.

It was too late now. He'd succumbed to his old dangerous habits. Holmes had a thing for addictions after all. Sherlock had his drugs and Mycroft had his funhouse mirror. He stood from the bed and grabbed the plate from the nightstand. He stumbled into the bathroom and stood over the toilet. He crushed the toast between his fingers and allowed it to sprinkle onto the water. Once the deed was done he flushed and stood in front of the mirror.

His cheeks were too puffy, and his midsection was too round for his liking. He made a mental note to start going on runs again. He climbed back into bed and stared at the ceiling.

He knew Gregory was smart enough to notice at some point. He counted on the fact he was smarter to hide his addiction.


	5. The Accident

Two months

Greg was exhausted from working and feeling sick as a dog. He stumbled into the flat with Gwen trailing behind him. Gwen had been living with the two men for over a month now. Mycroft and he decided that it would be best to keep Gwen in an environment with Mycroft as he was probably the safest person to be around. It was also nice that she had someone with who she could relate, and interact on the same intellectual level. During the month she stayed with them they hadn’t made many discoveries about her parents. They apparently were completely average people who were both respected lawyers. Sherlock had pretty much completely taken over the case in the past week since Greg was preparing for his extended medical leave.

He hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy besides Mycroft and Sherlock. He hadn’t even told John, and John didn’t ask. Greg had made sure that Sherlock would not say anything to John until he was ready. It was only fair, John was his best friend. They haven't actually seen each other in over a month. John had been quite busy picking up shifts at the E.R. and Mya and Greg had been preoccupied with trying to learn how to be a family. It was Friday night, and it was the first Friday that John had off since the night they found Gwen. They had made plans that morning to meet at the pub and watch the game.

Greg was unsurprised to find that Mycroft was home and locked away inside his office. The older Holmes had been weird for weeks since Greg’s return. At first, he assumed it was shock and adjustment to their new life but it was progressively getting worse. Mycroft seemed to avoid any time with him that wasn’t watching a movie or going to bed. The older man seemed fragile and distant over the passing days. He was often pale and shaky.

It was ritual when Greg left in the morning to leave him a quick breakfast and tea at his bedside. Though Greg suspected he wasn’t really eating it as it was often discarded into the trash. He knew logically what was going on but he was too scared to approach the situation. Mycroft would only deny the truth in order to protect Greg from seeing that he was weak. They would have to talk about it soon but Greg wasn’t ready for that argument or a night on their cold leather couch.

He knocked on the door lightly. “Come in!” Mycroft shouted from in the room.

Greg entered the room. “Hey, My, I just wanted to let you know I’m going out with John tonight.”

Mycroft paused and looked up from his computer letting his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. “Oh? Where are you boys off to?” He acted interested but Greg could tell he was just trying to be nice.

“The pub to watch the game.”

Mycroft removed his glasses and set them aside. “...is that a good idea, Gregory?”

“Trust me the most I’m drinking is a refreshing glass of ice water.” Greg moved around the table and leaned in to give his partner a quick kiss. Greg pulled away from the kiss and subtly glanced at the monitor of Mycroft’s computer. He forced himself not to react to what he could see.

“Bye, My. There are leftovers in the fridge when you get hungry.”

“Bye, Greg.”

Greg closed the door behind himself and began to quietly freak out. Why was he looking at rings? They had discussed it many times and had decided that they would never get married. With Mycroft’s job and Lestrade’s past it simply just felt wrong. All they really needed was love. Why did Mycroft think that a ring would change that? He felt slight anger but also a hint of fear at his discovery.

\-------------------  
Several Years Ago

Greg was tied to his desk and sorting through hundreds of papers that an intern had ruined with a spilled cup of coffee. He was furious as he dabbed at the stains and rewrote reports. The only thing that was keeping him sane was knowing that once he left the office he would be able to go get his sons from Maralyn and spend the weekend with them. He was shoving wet papers into the trash when Donovan rushed into the door with a panicked look in her eyes.

“Detective, you need to come with me. Now.”

Lestrade grabbed his coat. “Why?”

“There’s been an accident.” He followed her through the hallways into her police cruiser. “What do you mean an accident, whose accident, Sally?”

“It’s your family Lestrade. They were in a car accident. Trust me I can’t tell you all the details right now we need to get you to the hospital.”

“Why? Sally, please! Are they gonna be okay? Do you know?”

“I don’t know, Greg! Please, just let me get you there.”

Greg rolled down the window before lighting a cigarette. They spent the rest of the five-minute ride in silence. Donovan probably broke the law more than a handful of times. Finally, they made it to the entrance.

"I'm sorry Greg. I'll contact you soon, I was called to the scene. Just tell the front desk your name and they'll take you there."

Greg nodded before grinding his cigarette onto the sidewalk and sprinting through the doors. He didn't even get his last name out before a young male doctor dressed in surgical gear approached him.

"Are you Greg Lestrade? Please follow me to my office." They made their way down several hallways and into an office.

"What's going on? Where's my family?"

"Mr. Lestrade it would be best if you took a seat."

"No. I think I'm good."

"Alright, well this is really hard to say. I’m sorry for your loss. An intoxicated cabbie hit your ex-wife's car from behind. I am so sorry to tell you this, but your two sons passed away on impact."

The ringing in his ears threatened to drag him under but he pushed it aside for a moment not quite understanding what he was being told. "Where's Maralyn? Is she okay?"

The doctor took a deep breath. "She is alive. However, I must tell you that she's on life support as she experienced severe blunt force trauma to the head. If by some miracle she did recover, she would likely never speak, walk, or breathe on her own again."

"Are you asking my permission to kill her?"

"Sir, no. We are just telling you the information so that you can make a decision that is best for you and your family."

Greg nearly punched the man as he looked at him with sympathy. "This is my family! How am I supposed to make that decision?"

"I’m sorry, sir." The doctor removed himself from the office leaving Greg alone with his thoughts.

As soon as the doctor had explained her condition he knew that the right thing to do would be to let her go. He just couldn't help but feel disgusted with himself at the thought of signing away her life. He was so distracted by the thought of this that he had buried another pain of loss deep into his brain.

Eventually, twenty minutes later he found himself sitting by her bedside. He gripped her hand tightly as he silently cried. He believed that if anyone should die it should be him. He had cheated and chased away the one person he loved so deeply that it felt like a hole in his soul. He deserved the pain, not Maralyn.

"I know this won't mean much and it's too late now." He took a shuddering breath. "I love you. I love you more than anything in the world. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I did this to us. I'll miss you every day. I'll never drink a cup of coffee and cream without thinking of you, and I'll never let anyone have my heart the same way you did." Greg stood from the chair before leaving the room.

He nodded to the nurses signaling for them to go into the room. He stumbled numbly down the hall not really paying attention to anything but the tiles on the floor. He ran headfirst into the chest of a very tall man. He looked up to apologize but was shocked into silence.

"Gregory? What are you doing here?" Mycroft looked a lot frailer than when he had seen him with Sherlock a handful of times. The older man's hair wasn't combed and he wasn't dressed in his normal posh three-piece suit. He wore a plain white t-shirt that hung off his shoulders and a baggy pair of grey sweatpants. He was limping slightly and hung onto the I.V. pole with a rough hand.

Greg opened his mouth to respond but only let out a deafening ugly sob. Mycroft released his hold on the pole and wrapped Greg in a tight embrace. He didn't even give it much thought. He didn't ask Greg what happened. He took one look in the younger man's eyes and saw the pain of loss. It seemed like it was forever before they parted. Greg quietly thanked him, feeling embarrassed at the outburst.

"I'm sorry to put that on you." Greg gestured to Mycroft. "you've clearly got your own problems right now."

"More of an annoyance than a problem."

\-----------------  
Greg felt relief wash over him when he opened the door of the pub and stepped in. He saw John was already halfway through a pint and engrossed in the game. He sat down next to him and felt guilty when he noticed the pint in his place.

"Oh, John- I'm sorry, mate, but I think I'll just get water. Why don't you have this one." He pushed the drink towards John.

"I was hoping that you'd join me for a night of getting pissed. I could really use a drinking buddy." John joked but Greg could tell something bothered him.

"What's going on, John?" He asked as he ordered water from the bartender.

He sighed, "I think Sherlock needs to start working again. I can't afford the flat on my own anymore and he's getting annoyingly overbearing with Mya. I just don't want to seem like a prick if I tell him he needs to make money."

Greg pondered this for a minute. "I think I might have a solution for you. It just so happens that the Yard has a temporary job opening."

"Sherlock working a salary based job? That's absurd, he would never take it."

"He will if it's a D.I. position." Greg thanked the bartender for the water.

"Greg, what?"

"I'm being forced into medical leave and I need someone to fill in for me." He sipped at his water as John began placing the pieces together.

John searched his eyes for an answer. "Are you sick?"

"No."

"Pregnant?"

"Yep."

"Well, congratulations! How'd Mycroft take the news?"

"He's ecstatic as expected. Things are still a little rough after the separation. He's been weird lately." Greg tapped the rim of his glass. "I think he relapsed. I just don't know how to talk to him about it. He'll just deny it and continue to hide it. I don't think I could handle him pushing away from me any further." He slowed his tapping and brought his hands into his lap.

John gave him a sad look as he pushed his empty glass away. “Sherlock does that. Denies when he’s not okay. I think there’s something about the Holmes’ that makes them think they have to hide their pain.”

Greg scoffed in agreement. “I wish I knew why, John, I really do.”

"Look, I'll make sure to stop by your place tomorrow, you should go home and talk to Mycroft before he gets worse."

"Yeah, you're right. I gotta deal with this before I can freak out over the proposal." Greg pulled out his card but the bartender shook his head.

"You just had water, it's fine, officer." Greg nodded before rushing out the door. John sat in confused shock over what Lestrade had said. Proposal?


	6. Never a Dull Moment

He felt his steps grow heavier the further into the house he walked. He spotted Mycroft at the table playing Cluedo with Gwen. He smiled at the interaction between the two.

"Hey, Gwen. Why don't you go read your book in your room? I need to talk to Mycroft."

"Okay!" She eagerly grabbed the novel next to her and bolted down the hall.

Mycroft knew exactly what this conversation was about. He could sense it in the seriousness of Gregory's stance. The younger man's eyes were dripping with concern.

He sighed as he stood and pushed the seat under the table. "Can we not have this discussion tonight, Gregory?"

"Sit down." Greg pointed at the table as he took a seat across from his partner. "I know I should've said something sooner but I thought it was just you adjusting. It's not though is it?"

"What are you talking about?" He played dumb.

"My, I see the crumbs on the toilet seat and we use the same trash cans. Why are you doing this?" Greg leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.

He stared down into his lap. "You wouldn't-"

"Understand? Skip that excuse."

"Greg, what do you want from me? Whatever answer I give you is going to disappoint you."

"My, you couldn't disappoint me. You're sick, and we need to get you better. I need to know why so I can help you."

Mycroft pondered for a moment before taking a deep breath. "I don't know why."

"What does that tell you about what you need to do to help yourself?"

"Find out why." Mycroft was shaking at this point both from illness and fear. "How do I find out why?"

"Hold on, dear. Let me make you some toast. Do you think you could handle that? Or would you rather some yogurt?"

Of course, he could hold it down, it was just a matter if he wanted to. "Yogurt, yogurt is fine." Greg appeared moments later with a bowl of yogurt and a spoon. He set it down in front of Mycroft from taking his own seat again. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes while Mycroft slowly ate the yogurt.

"John's coming by tomorrow. I'm sure he'll be glad to go over some options with you. Let's go tuck in Gwen."

Mycroft nodded and followed Greg into Gwen's room (the guest room). As they entered they weren't surprised to find Gwen wide awake and reading in bed. Mycroft stepped forward and slowly removed the book from her small hands.

"Time for bed, honey." He set the book on the side table. "You can finish it tomorrow, I promise. I'll even do the voices with you."

Greg smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed. He'd never seen that side of Mycroft before. He had fears about having a baby but his partner's loyalty and kindness changed all his doubts.

"You promise, My?"

"Yes, of course. I'm a man of my word." He pretended to be offended. He looked towards Greg and smiled gently.

Greg ran his hand through her soft red hair. "Alright, peanut. We gotta get to bed now."

The two men left the room and headed towards their own bedroom. They readied themselves for bed slowly. Mycroft cringed as he watched Greg toss his shirt onto the floor beside the laundry basket. It bothered him but he refrained from commenting or picking it up. It didn't matter that much anyway. It was simply an example of how their relationship was like a well-oiled machine. Mycroft was tidy, and stiff while Greg was messy and smooth. Mycroft despite his annoyance would take all the dirty mugs, clothes on the floor, and mud on the carpet over ever sleeping alone again. This is exactly why he was going to ensure that they would be together till death.

Mycroft folded his suit gently before placing it on the dresser as it would have to be sent in for dry cleaning. Greg disappeared into the bathroom to brush his teeth and was followed by his partner. Greg brushed until Mycroft stopped knowing that he had counted the two minutes in his head. They both took their medications and climbed into bed.

They slept facing away from each other and as far to the edge as they could get. It wasn’t Greg’s choice he was a cuddler, but Mycroft had always made it clear that unless there was sex involved or small affections he didn’t want to be touched. It made him sad but he understood that not everyone wanted that kind of attention. He turned the lamp off before pulling the covers up to his chin. He was nearly asleep when he felt Mycroft shift closer till they were almost touching. Greg turned to look at him.

"I'm not really in the mood, My." He turned back to face away from him.

"I don't want that. I just want to be closer… to you?" Mycroft's fingers danced on top of the blanket in a quick pattern.

"You, Mycroft Holmes, want to cuddle?" Greg still didn't turn to face him.

"I suppose that's correct. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's- fine…"

Mycroft slotted himself behind the other man and laid an arm across his stomach and another underneath his head. Greg found this behavior incredibly odd. Mycroft was never as cold as people believed him to be but he wasn't like… this. He'd been far too accommodating during the evening, he hadn't fought him during the conversation. He'd gone to bed at a reasonable time, didn't bombard him with questions when he got home and was now wanting to cuddle.

Greg had a suspicion that this had something to do with the ring. He could only assume that Mycroft was buttering him up so he would say yes. It made him nauseous thinking about it. He knew what he had to do but the thought of breaking Mycroft's heart destroyed him. He loved him more than anything but he had made a promise to himself that he would never make that commitment to another person. He pulled his arm from under the covers before reaching to hold Mycroft's hand that was resting on his stomach.

"I never thought I would get to have this," Mycroft whispered into the nape of Greg's neck.

"Have what?"

"A family. You have no concept of how much I love you, Gregory Lestrade." Greg didn't reply as he felt his partners breathing even out into soft snores.

\-------------  
The next morning they all found themselves seated in the living room with John. Gwen was busying herself with a medical journal that John had given to her. Mycroft was nervously fidgeting with one of the buttons on his suit while Greg was tapping the side of his coffee mug. John had his laptop resting on his knee as he furiously typed.

"So… Mycroft. In my professional opinion based on the state of your health. I believe that the best treatment option for you is to be admitted to a hospital that specializes in eating disorders. You'd have to undergo a seventy-two-hour watch in order to determine the appropriate length of your stay."

Mycroft sat straighter and his face paled. "What are the other options?"

John frowned. "Someone would have to monitor you every day. You'd also still need a therapist and nutritionist. I understand my first option sounds scary but it'll be more effective in recovery to have constant monitoring and assistance."

Greg rested a hand on his partner's knee. "My, I think you should go."

"I can't, you're going on complete bed rest soon. I need to care for you myself."

"That's why I think you should go. This family needs you to get well. If having you gone for a while ensures that you get the best recovery then I want you to take it."

John looked up from his laptop and removed his glasses. “It’s up to you, Mycroft. I know your work is very important to you but I'm sure you can find a way to still complete it from the hospital. Also, Greg is more than welcome to come and stay with Sherlock and me.”

Mycroft’s hand slid over his partners. “I am not having Gregory sleeping on your couch, John.”

“You’re deflecting. You’re making excuses. You know that 221c is not occupied.”

Greg gingerly set his mug onto the coffee table. "My, I've survived nearly forty years without you. I'm sure I can survive a few more days while you get better."

Mycroft sighed and looked towards his shoes. "Alright."

John closed his laptop before standing. "Great, I'll let them know that you'll be checking in tomorrow morning. I'll send you the directions and everything when I get home." He slung his briefcase onto his shoulder and sped out the door.

Greg leaned heavily onto his partner allowing his head to rest on Mycroft's shoulder. Mycroft, in turn, leaned into the touch and spread a hand over the younger man's stomach.

"I apologize for being such an absolute mess, Gregory."

"You aren't a mess, My. It's been a rough two years. Even the great Mycroft Holmes needs help sometimes."

"I wish I could just stop. It sounds so easy to just eat something. I look at it and just feel disgusted… with myself."

"It'll be okay, My."


	7. Recovery

3 months

John stumbled into the flat feeling exhausted. He'd barely slept the past few nights because Sherlock was clingy in his sleep and the flat was abnormally warm. His shift at the hospital had been nothing short of chaos. He was supposed to be home several hours prior but luck was not on his side. Just as he had made it to his employee locker, a round of patients arrived from the scene of a bus crash.

So now he was grumpy and just wanting to sleep. Unfortunately for him, it was also his night with the baby monitor. He wasn't surprised to find Sherlock still awake at this time. The younger man was bent over the kitchen table droning over file after file, and an abandoned experiment was left (safely out of reach) at the other end. He rounded the table to stand behind his husband and placed a kiss on his head.

"Sherlock, it's nearly two in the morning. You should be asleep, you have to work tomorrow."

Sherlock leaned his head back so he could look at John. "Ugh, don't remind me. I actually was going to bed when Molly called me."

Sherlock had taken the temporary D.I. position much to the dismay of Dimmock, Donovan, and Anderson. He lacked true education for the position but had the experience. Which was a conflict during the hiring process. He hadn't told John this but he was looking into positions in forensics. He had the education for it, he would still be solving crimes, it was a stable income, and it would keep him safe. The downside was that he was definitely going to miss all that running and danger.

John began prepping a mug of tea. It was late for caffeine but he was so tired and craved a warm beverage. "Molly? What did Molly want?"

"I requested that she run a DNA test on Gwen. I'm out of leads and I have a theory I wanted to test."

"How'd you manage that?"

"I asked her for a blood sample. How else would I obtain it? Anyways, you're asking the boring questions."

"Okay then, what did you find?" John placed the mug under the machine and hit a few buttons.

"I had her run the test against the two victims, me and Mycroft."

"Why you and Mycroft?"

"It was a theory. The only two people I know of with that level of intellect is I, Mycroft, and Moriarty. I ruled out Moriarty. Interestingly enough Gwen isn't related to the two people who claim to be her parents. She is however related to me and Mycroft. The DNA provided that Mycroft is indeed the child's biological parent." Sherlock passed the results to John who was leaning against the counter.

"Mycroft… and he doesn't know that Gwen is his kid?"

"Nope. We'll need to go to the hospital tomorrow and discuss it with him, and inform Lestrade as well." He gathered all the papers into a neat pile before standing.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Sherlock. Mycroft's in a delicate state and Greg needs to hear it from Mycroft himself. We should really stay out of it. At least for now." John placed the results on the table before picking up his tea.

"I understand that this is an emotional thing but this opens the case beyond what we thought. If she's related to Mycroft it means that this has something to do with him. Someone is trying to get to him. For all, we know this puts not only Mycroft at risk but the rest of this family." Sherlock's eyes burned with untouched rage as he moved the files into a box.

John sighed. "You're right, you're absolutely right. I can talk to Greg, I have to go down and check on Gwen and him anyways. Do you know if he's awake?"

"Judging by the retching I heard about twenty minutes ago, yes." John nodded before heading towards the door with his tea in hand.

Sherlock froze for a moment. "John?"

John paused in the doorway. "Yes, dear?"

"I was thinking… how would you feel if we had another baby? Mya is just the right age to introduce a sibling." He bit his tongue holding back his growing concern as John stayed silent.

John frowned before taking a slow sip of tea. "With the lives we live, Sherlock. One is enough."

"I see." He tried to hide his disappointment as he watched John turn and head down the stairs.

Once he heard the sound of 221c opening he scrambled under the table to retrieve the paper that he had slipped under when John walked in. Unfortunately, the science of male gestation was still fairly new so male contraception was limited to a few things. Those few things included condoms and sterilization. There was talk of pills being tested but it was early in the process and still deemed highly unsafe for consumption.

It was just his luck that he and John would be that unlucky 2-15% of people who would experience the effects of a faulty condom. Twice. He was apparently only three weeks gone so he had time. He just needed enough time to figure out what to do. The timing was bad, it was terrible. John was beyond stressed with work, Sherlock was busy, Lestrade was experiencing a risky pregnancy himself, and Mycroft was suffering from an eating disorder.

He groaned at the realization. He was starting to wonder if the chaos would ever end. Sherlock snatched the baby monitor off the counter before trudging towards his bedroom.

John tapped lightly on the door and waited for an answer. An annoyed "come in" was heard from inside the flat. John opened the door and wandered in towards the bedrooms. 221c was constructed completely opposite of 221b. The bedroom that would normally be upstairs was actually down a set of stairs.

He opened the door to the bedroom and was unsurprised at the position of the D.I. Greg was buried in blankets and staring blindly at the television. John felt warm just looking at all the blankets and empty mugs of tea on the bedside. Greg and Gwen had moved into 221c temporarily so that he was close to a doting Mrs. Hudson, and Dr. Watson.

"How are you doing, Greg?"

"I saw the doctor today. The baby is healthy." Greg poked his head over the mountain of blankets. "Too bad the morning sickness has gone from bad to worse."

"Ah, well I wouldn't understand. I'm glad it's going well for you. I guess the universe is making up for all that time you guys were trying." John awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed with his mug tucked between his thighs. "Sherlock had a blood test done on Gwen."

"I know. What did the test say, is she alright?"

"Gwen… is Mycroft's daughter."

"It makes sense I suppose. She does look a lot like him. With the red hair and all. The personality is also similar." Greg looked unimpressed and bored.

"Do you know who the other parent is?" John cut straight to the point as he was tired and just wanted to go to bed.

"No. Mycroft has never spoken about anyone that he's had a relationship with. For all I knew, I was the only one." Greg seemed to be getting agitated with the questioning. "You should really go to bed, John. Your husband has been keeping me up with his pacing for hours and he won't sleep without you."

"Yeah, I probably should."

\---------------  
Mycroft groaned at the intrusion of light in the room. He flipped away intent on going back to sleep. Sleep was his only solace in a place that made him so uncomfortable. It'd been a month and he still couldn't stand the new routine. He begrudgingly sat up realizing that if he didn't the nurse would simply badger him relentlessly. He was surprised to see a nurse that he had never seen before. She appeared younger than most of them.

"Mr. Holmes, your medications." The nurse handed him a small paper cup along with a glass of juice.

He swallowed them quickly and downed the glass. "Thank you."

"Your brother is here, sir."

"Could you let him know that I'll be out in twenty minutes?" She took the glass from him before leaving the room.

Mycroft stood and walked to the bathroom to shower. He was pleased to see that new towels had been restocked, and the nurse had left him a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He showered quickly feeling oddly excited to see Sherlock. Sherlock made it a habit to come to visit him every weekend, sometimes with John, but never with Greg. Greg was on strict bed rest so making the two-hour drive was too stressful. After a quick shower, he dressed and headed out into the visiting area.

He wanted to cry when he saw Gregory sitting next to both Sherlock and John. The excitement he felt died as he got closer. The expressions on their faces held uncertainty that he didn’t like. They all looked nervous in their own ways. Sherlock was slightly shaking, John’s eyes were darting around the room, and Greg was nervously tapping his stomach. He took a seat across from the three of them, making sure he was sitting directly in front of Greg.

“This is a nice surprise. Not that I don’t enjoy this visit but aren’t you supposed to be at home Gregory? In bed?” Mycroft went straight in trying to ignore the looks.

"I haven't seen you in nearly a month. I figured the little one could handle a small trip to see their father." Greg smiled and reached across the table to grasp his partner's hand.

Before Mycroft could answer a fidgeting Sherlock jumped into the conversation. "I had a DNA test done on Gwen."

"Oh? I'm not sure what you expect me to do with that information from inside a treatment center." Mycroft snapped.

"Considering she's your daughter, I figured you might already have some information."

"Sherlock!" John hissed from beside his husband.

"What? It's no use dragging it out."

Mycroft's grip on Lestrade's hand tightened an uncomfortable amount. "I didn't know. I don't know anything. If you're looking for answers I don't have any. Gwen is seven years old. I have no memory from that long ago. During that time I was spending nearly every night at government diner parties and galas. It's no surprise I took women to bed every now and then. I had to entertain myself somehow."

"With what happened to Gwen's parents, I have reason to believe that someone is trying to draw you out," Sherlock explained.

"Let them try, Sherlock. I am incredibly secured. I am not concerned with some petty criminal." He released Greg's hand and rolled his eyes at his younger brother.

"This person strangled two people- excuse me." Sherlock's face turned somehow paler as he stumbled from the chair. "I need to use the restroom."

The three men watched as the young detective sped down a hallway into a bathroom. John watched the door swing closed with a concerned expression but stayed seated. Mycroft had an odd feeling lodged into his throat.

"It appears, I also need to express my bladder." The two men gave him an odd look but said nothing as he walked away. He opened the door slowly and stepped inside. He cringed as he heard the sounds of violent vomiting.

"Sherlock?" He asked as he tapped lightly on the stall door.

"Yes, yes give me a moment."

"Are you alright?"

The toilet flushed and the sound of squeaking shoes could be heard before the door finally clicked open. "Fine. Is there a reason you followed me into the loo?"

"They say that pregnant people have this glow about them. You, my dear brother, are quite radiant." Mycroft smirked and leaned against the sink.

"How could you possibly know?"

"I didn't. You just told me. I suppose congratulations are in order?"

"It is not. I would prefer that you do not mention this to either of our spouses."

"Is there a problem? I would expect joy from both of you. After all, you aim to build a perfect little family."

"John… is quite content with the way things are now. I fear disruption of that."

"What are you going to do then?"

"I need time to think. A termination sounds most logical...but I can't fathom the idea. Now get out, I need a few moments."

Mycroft nodded before returning to John and Lestrade. John and Lestrade were engaged in a deep conversation but paused as he approached the table and sat down.

"I appreciate the visit. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"It's fine, My. I didn't really care about that. I miss you."

"My counselor has informed me that I could possibly be released in two weeks. I am looking forward to it, the atmosphere here is a bit… odd. John, would you mind taking Sherlock somewhere else for a bit? I would like to have a private conversation with Gregory."

"No, problem." John left and headed into the bathroom where he emerged a few moments later with his husband. They left the building quickly.

"How have you been, Greg? I imagine living underneath the Watson-Holmes' is most interesting." He smiled trying to bring some light into the conversation.

"It's not awful. Sherlock can be a bit loud occasionally but nothing that I can't handle. Mya rarely cries and Gwen really enjoys playing with her. The morning sickness is terrible but it should be worth it- it is worth it. Tell me about your treatment, My. I hope they treat you well?"

Mycroft sighed. This wasn't really something he wanted to talk about. Normally he'd dodge it as he felt emotions were irrational and caused weakness. However, something about the concern in Lestrade's eyes made him spill everything, every detail and he couldn't stop.

"It- it was hard at first…" he paused taking a breath. "I couldn't tolerate-" he paused again feeling slightly sick.

"My, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Greg reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"No it's fine, I need to discuss it. My counselor says it would do me some good… I'm apparently a bit too guarded in our sessions. Anyways, I couldn't tolerate food- I gagged instead of swallowed. They had to place a tube… my health might have been a bit far gone at a point."

He continued to talk about it for about another hour. Greg simply listened and caressed the older man's knuckles with his thumb and gave him encouraging nods. The relief of talking about it was amazing. Mycroft had never felt so light, and he'd also never felt so much love for his partner.

Eventually, Greg had to leave-taking the Watson-Holmes' with him. Mycroft stood to retreat back to his room, feeling heavy sadness that his family had left. He was stopped by the nurse that morning. He couldn't remember her name, and he honestly never bothered to ask.

"Mr. Holmes, it's time for your afternoon walk." She held out a thin grey coat for him.

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "I don't have afternoon walks."

"Dr. Faulkner has requested I take you on a walk around the facility."

He reached for the coat not entirely trusting the women. He slipped it on before following her out the doors. He learned early on that it was easier to conform to what he was told and asked. They made it around the corner of the building when the nurse suddenly stopped.

"Do you hear that?" She asked, looking around her.

Mycroft turned around to check his surroundings. "No-" he felt a sharp pinch in the side of his neck. He spun back around but nearly fell as dizziness filled his senses. He let out a hand to catch himself against the wall as his vision blurred.

"What? What is happening?" He squinted his eyes at the nurse trying to ease the blurriness. He could vaguely make out the shape of a needle in his hand.

"Midazolam. It won't harm you- at least that won't. You've been quite a pain to get a hold of, Mr. Holmes."


	8. Captured

Sherlock was nearly about to start banging his head against the computer monitor. He'd been asked to take on a homicide case. It was incredibly easy. The husband did it. However, Sherlock had forgotten that part of being a D.I. involved all the mindless paperwork. It was nearly seven now, almost Mya's bedtime. He'll be damned if he misses storytime because the stupid computer froze. He pounded the enter key furiously hoping that it would do something.

He jumped as he heard his (Lestrade's) office door open. Donovan stepped inside. Her eyes were wide as she held out a phone to him.

"It's your brother." He groaned before snatching the phone. Sally backed out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

"Mycroft, I swear to god I am not in the mood for small talk right now!" It wasn't uncommon for Mycroft to call during his free time to banter.

"Mister- mister Watson-Holmes?" A shaky female voice came through the phone.

"Uh, yes? Who are you? Why do you have my brother's mobile?" His tone dropped from frustration to confusion.

"Your brother checked out two days ago but all of his belongings are still here."

"He's gone?"

"Yes he ended his treatment early, would you like to come to retrieve his things?"

"No, I would like to come to retrieve my brother when his treatment is over!" He was growing pissed off. "I'm coming up there right now! You better figure out where my moronic brother is. I can guarantee you, he did not walk out of there on his own. Pull your security footage, and everything you have because this is not acceptable!" He hung up the phone before whipping his coat off the back of the chair.

He was panicking. He promised Greg that Mycroft would be safe. Now he was missing. His brother had been gone for two days already, he had a lot of time to make up for. He grabbed his own phone from his pocket as he rushed from the building. He dialed John as he sprinted towards a cab. He slid into the cab as John picked up.

"Sherlock, I'm a bit busy. Is Mya warm again? I'm telling you she just has a bit of cold."

"John, is Greg with you?"

"Uh, no? I'm at work in the middle of stitching up some drunk idiots palm."

"Mycroft's missing. Don't tell Greg. I'm heading up to the center now."

"Goddamnit."

\-------------------

His head hurt, scratch that his whole body ached. Mycroft stretched trying to loosen his tight joints. He was midway through a yawn when the weight on his ankle made his eyes snap open. All his senses hit him like a bus. The cold concrete flooring, the nearly complete darkness, and the tight chain around his foot, that wrapped securely around a pole. He sat up trying to assess his surroundings a bit better. The room was small, and judging by the stairs and various random boxes it was a basement. His mind screamed danger as he heard descending footsteps.

"Mycroft! I was wondering when you would get up. You've been quite the pain during the road trip." The young nurse stepped forward, obviously not actually a nurse.

"Who are you and what do you want?" He rolled his eyes in irritation.

"I wanna make a deal."

Mycroft scoffed. "You couldn't have sent an email?"

"Tsk, tsk. No, I needed more than just you for this to work. You see, Mr. Holmes, I had a very intricate plan. Eight years ago I met James Moriarty, we hit it off considering our mutual hatred for a certain detective. James and I disagreed on our plans to destroy Sherlock Holmes. He wanted to build a criminal network and corner him so he had no other option but to obey. I wanted to sink deep into his inner circle and make it personal. I stalked you Mycroft, it's not an easy task."

"Please just finish this story so I can say no to whatever you want from me!"

"Hush! Anyways, I attended a party by the Prime Minister where I met you, and boy were you pissed! You had a little too much wine and we shagged in his broom closet. Unfortunately, instead of seducing you, I got pregnant. Nasty thing that child- the idea of my baby being related to such a disgraceful human being. I couldn't stand it. So I dropped her at a hospital and followed Moriarty to Serbia since my plan clearly wasn't working. Fast forward several years. I'm sure I don't need to explain all that. Anyways, Moriarty gets captured and I obviously can't have that! So I decide to compose a little plan. I knew Sherlock couldn't possibly pass up checking out a double homicide, and the D.I. was your boyfriend. It was a perfect storm. I anonymously threatened the victims for months and then I hired someone to strangle those two idiots and lured you straight to the girl."

"For the love of God! I don't care! Just tell me what you want, I don't need the theatrics!" He screamed getting tired of hearing this aggravating story.

"Rude, I've been preparing that speech for days. I want you to release Moriarty and have Sherlock Holmes killed."

"Even if I did have that power, why would I do that?"

The woman stepped closer with a thin metal rod. She prodded it at Mycroft's chest. "You are not as safe as you think. So here's how this is gonna go. I'm gonna give your brother five days to get started on this case while I torture you. Then I'll call him, you'll tell him what I want and you will do what I want. If not I will just kill Gregory Lestrade and Gwenivere."

"You'll kill your own daughter, for someone who never did anything for you?"

"You don't know anything about love. You're a robot. We both know that you'll choose the D.I. and the little girl because it's worth saving two lives over one. You work with logistics, not emotion. I'd like to have fun anyways."

"If you're telling me you love James Moriarty, then you are as dumb as you are insane. He's a gay man, he will never love you the way you want him too." He wasn't prepared for the wack of the rod against his ribs.

"You don't speak, Mycroft. Unless the words out of your mouth involve letting Moriarty go and Sherlock dead then you keep it shut!"

He chose to retreat into his mind palace when he saw the rod come at him a second time.

\----------------

Sherlock stormed out of the treatment center in a rage. The cameras showed Mycroft leaving the building with a woman dressed as a nurse, who wasn't actually an employee. She kept her face conveniently out of view. He leaned against the wall and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He removed one and the lighter before replacing the pack into this pocket. He groaned in annoyance as John arrived. He hopped out of the car and approached his husband.

"Anything?"

"Useless, all of it."

John moved to stand next to him. "Smoking again are we?"

Sherlock stared down at his unlit cigarette before tossing it into the road. "No. I don't even know why they're in my pockets." Sherlock removed them and handed them to John. “I think I found them in Greg’s desk.”

"So we have no leads?"

"Not unless someone magically gives us one."

"I'm sure Anthea has a manhunt out for him. What do we tell Greg?"

"Nothing. We can't. He's already so stressed if he finds out he'll want to help. If he wants to help he won't be on bed rest." He rubbed at his face in frustration.

"You need to calm down, love." John put a hand on his shoulder.

"I failed him, John." He whimpered as he wrapped his coat around himself tighter.

"Failed who?"

"Lestrade. I promised that Mycroft would be safe there. He'll hate me if anything happens to My."

"When was this?"

"The night Mycroft got admitted."

“This isn't your fault. Now come on, it's late. I know you want to protect Greg but we have to tell him. He might know where Mycroft is." John reached from his hand and guided him into the nearby car.

\-------------

Sherlock stepped inside of the room nervously. Feeling an odd amount of fear. He knew John was right, but he also knew that Lestrade was a scary man sometimes. Greg glanced up from his book and set it aside on the mattress when he saw it was Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock? You never come down this late. What's going on? You look pale." Greg motioned for him to sit on the edge of the bed. Sherlock ignored him and stayed standing.

"The hospital called tonight…" he took a sharp breath, "Mycroft is missing."

Greg stared at him dumbfounded. "What?"

"They say that he signed himself out but the cameras and the fact his stuff was left behind says otherwise."

Greg glared daggers at the younger man. "I trusted you."

"I know, I'm sorry." Sherlock stared at his shoes in shame.

"You're sorry? I trusted you, and you let this happen. I gave you my job, I got you sober, and I helped you build a career! How can you be sorry when I asked for one thing and you can't even do that? Do you hate your brother that much?"

"No, I don't. I don't hate him at all. I'm looking for him Greg, but I don't have anything to go off of."

"Just get the hell out, you arse. I don't even know why John stays with you. You're a selfish man, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock felt grief consume him as he turned to leave the flat. Gwen gave him an odd look as he passed her in the kitchen. He raced into his own flat and found himself standing helplessly in the sitting room. John had already gone to bed. He curled up onto the couch trying desperately to not let Lestrade's words hinder him.

Lestrade was his father figure. Lestrade had been there when no one else was around to help him up. Sherlock remembered the days he spent on the D.I.'s couch while he suffered withdrawals from the cocaine. He remembered how Lestrade talked Mrs. Hudson into letting him rent the place. How he did everything he could to get the detective off the streets.

Greg resented him for it apparently. It made sense after all. Who would want to take care of him? He was insufferable. He hoped that it was just Greg's hormones from the baby and the emotions from Mycroft's disappearance. He couldn't help but feel the words ran much deeper.

He wanted a smoke, a drink, or some drugs. He obviously couldn't have any of those. He was a dad. Still an odd concept to him but he deeply enjoyed it. It was strange how being a parent made him feel more important than solving crimes ever did.

He sat up and walked towards the kitchen table, snatching John's laptop off his chair in the process. He wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. He had to find Mycroft or at least die trying.


	9. Searching

Sherlock stared at the security footage. His eyes were red with sleep deprivation. Mycroft had been missing for nearly four days and he still wasn't any closer. The footage was all he had to go off of and it was useless. It was Mycroft walking out of the door with a young nurse. It was black and white so the hair color was unseen. They circled the corner and that was it. Fifteen seconds of uselessness.

He clicked replay anyway. He hummed as he bounced Mya on his knee, trying to get her to stop crying. She was no longer sobbing but still whimpering as she gripped onto his suit jacket.

"Da?" She looked up at him with her heartbreaking grey-blue eyes.

"Yes, baby?"

She just smiled and went back to playing with the buttons on his jacket. The sudden urge to barf came over him and he gently moved Mya to her blanket in the sitting room and ran off towards the bathroom. He heaved for several minutes. Nothing coming up but toast from yesterday and bile. He rinsed his mouth out before returning to the main room.

He nearly left his skin as he witnessed Greg crouching on the floor speaking softly to his daughter. They avoided each other like the plague. Sherlock never went down to check on him, only sending Mrs. Hudson or asking Gwen when she came up. Sherlock felt a little fearful that Greg was now in his flat. He stepped back putting more space between them.

"Donovan called me." Greg stood and moved so he was sitting in Sherlock's chair. Sherlock said nothing, not entirely sure if he was supposed to say anything at all. "You haven't been in the office all week."

Sherlock still stayed silent as he sat down next to his daughter. He handed her a stuffed bee and playfully tickled her tummy.

"Sherlock. You have to do your job. You can't just stop working whenever you feel like it."

"I am working," Sherlock whispered, mostly to himself.

"On what? It doesn't look like it." Greg gestured to the abnormally clean flat.

Sherlock looked up from the baby and made eye contact with Greg for the first time. Greg narrowed his eyes at him.

"Any sign of Mycroft?" Sherlock stiffened.

"No."

Greg opened his mouth to respond but snapped it shut when the door opened. John came in and immediately tossed his briefcase onto the table. He paused when he saw Greg sitting in Sherlock's chair.

"Hello, Greg. How are you doing?"

"As well as expected considering."

John turned towards his husband. "Sherlock. I told Mrs. Hudson that you would leave Mya with her today so you could actually get some rest."

"She came up, I refused. I'm fine, John." He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Mya.

"You're sick. I don't need you to get our daughter sick too! Now come on, and get to bed."

"I'm not sick, I'm just tired. I have to work on this." Sherlock stood and moved towards the table.

"What? Are you just going to sit there and watch that tape? Sherlock, it's nothing."

Sherlock sat at the laptop and hit replay, ignoring John's glare. Greg sat there and looked at the younger man. He really observed him. He noticed the red eyes and the deep dark circles under them. He could see how pale and shaky he seemed as well. If he didn't know better, he would say that he was high. This wasn't drugged up Sherlock if he were high he'd be relentlessly annoying and bouncing off the walls. Now he was just reserved and looked… tired and ill.

He stood from the armchair and stood next to John. Greg furrowed his eyebrows and looked at John. "How long has he been like this?" He whispered.

"Since he found out Mycroft is missing. It's starting to scare me a bit. He won't bloody eat and he hasn't come to bed either. I can barely get a few sentences out of him. All he does is watch that security footage and occasionally calls Molly to ask about DNA testing. I found him in the bathroom last night being sick. He apparently worked himself sick."

Greg frowned feeling a strange wave of guilt. He wanted to find his partner but not at the expense of his friend.

"Hey, Sherlock. Lemme help, maybe a fresh set of eyes might help." Lestrade offered as he took a seat across from him.

Sherlock glanced up and back down. "No, it's fine. You need to go rest. I'll bring down your tea soon."

"I need to find him."

Sherlock's eyes widened and squinted in confusion. "I- I can find someone else to work the case if that would make you more comfortable." He closed the laptop, finally willing to engage in the conversation.

"Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

"You don't trust me."

"Of course I trust you, but clearly you haven't gotten anywhere."

Sherlock stared at him in shock. He reopened the laptop and turned it so Greg could see. He intently watched the video before looking back at Sherlock.

“There’s nothing here, Sherlock.”

“We don’t have anything else.”

\--------------

Mycroft groaned as he awoke in a new world of pain. He didn’t attempt to sit up, the concrete was nice and cold compared to the fever that was starting to ease into his mind. He stared at the ceiling watching the broken fan struggle to spin. It creaked annoyingly but he did his best to tune it out. He reached down to check his ribs. They were broken, that much he knew. He was starting to struggle to breathe and he had suspicions that his lung had been punctured or bruised in some way. He wasn’t sure. Anatomy and biology had always been Sherlock’s specialty. Mycroft considered himself a master of deceit and strategy.

He closed his eyes and delved into his mind. He thought about Gregory and the little family that they had started to make. He thought about their possible future marriage. He thought about how he spent the past two weeks secretly helping John look for a dog, and his new niece or nephew. He thought about a lot of things and didn’t try to logic anything out. He wasn’t even aware that he had started to cry.

This wasn't going to end well. That much he knew.

\---------------

“Hey, Sherlock. I’m gonna take the rubbish out.” John shouted from the kitchen as he began tugging the bag out of the trash can. “I’m pretty sure Mya is hungry.”

Sherlock walked out of the bedroom and headed straight for his daughter. “I got it.”

John dropped the bag on the floor and reached for the plastic strings to tie it up. He paused when he noticed a paper from St. Barts sitting on the top. He pulled it out thinking that it must’ve gotten accidentally thrown away. He turned to ask Sherlock if he needed it still but stopped when he saw his husband's name on it.

He uncrumpled it and began reading the paper. He felt nauseous when he finally realized what he was reading. He slowly looked up and stared at Sherlock who was pulling a can of baby food from the fridge. It suddenly all made so much sense. Why he didn’t want to be touched, the vomiting, and the weird question from a few nights ago.

“Hey, Sherlock?” He whispered.

“Yes, darling?” Sherlock turned to see what John wanted. When he spotted the paper in his hands he dropped the jar straight onto his foot in shock. “Ow, shit!” He hissed as he bent down to pick it up.

“How long have you known?” John abandoned the trash and sat at the table.

“A week,” Sherlock explained as he opened the can and gathered Mya from her blanket in the sitting room.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“A week ago. You said you didn’t want another baby and I got… concerned.” Sherlock set Mya in the high chair and began feeding her.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m- I'm sorry." Sherlock turned his head away from John, trying to hide the tears threatening to spill.

"Why are you sorry?" John set the paper on the table before taking a seat. "Sherlock, we're married. We have a daughter together. I'm not upset."

"I know that, John." Sherlock scoffed. "It's just bad timing. You've also made it clear that you don't want another child."

"That was before I knew you were actually pregnant!"

"What difference does it make?"

"Every bit of it!" John cringed when Mya began whimpering. "Can you please just look at me?" Sherlock set the jar onto the table and snapped his eyes towards John. "You're amazing."

Sherlock huffed. "What?"

"I love you. I love you, and I love our little family. A year ago I didn't think I would be married, let alone a parent. I know I said I didn't want this, but I didn't know I wanted it. We can have ten children and I would love every single one of them because I know that each one of them is a fantastic combination of you and me." John began laughing. "Jesus, I'm just thinking about what I'm gonna do with a house of geniuses."

Sherlock smiled sadly. "You're implying that you aren't smart, John. You are the most intelligent man I've ever met."

"Oh, shut up!" John teased as he stood and moved towards Sherlock. He pulled his husband into a tight hug. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"No, I've been a bit preoccupied."

"Of course you haven't. I'll take today off and watch Mya. You need to eat and sleep. Don't even give me that look. I'll fetch some toast and bring it to you in a few. Go lay down." Sherlock's shoulders slumped and he wandered off into the bedroom.

"Pap!" Mya squealed and made grabby hands for her other father.

"Ah, yes, I hear you." John picked up Mya from the highchair. "Shall we go to the park today?" The baby giggled in excitement. "Of course. That is your favorite place after all." He fondly ran a hand over what was beginning to be a head of black curls.

Sherlock flopped onto the bed ungracefully after eating John's toast. Feeling both mentally and physically exhausted, he snuggled deep into the blankets and prepared for a well needed day of sleep. Just as his eyes grew heavy his phone dinged loudly from beside him. He groaned as he pulled it off the nightstand. He read the message from an unknown number.

"Hey, Sherlock! I have your brother. Here's the address. Come with Moriarty and come alone. If you come with anyone besides yourself I will ensure that every person close to you is dead. -AM"

Attached was a photo of an old house. He suddenly felt very awake as he sat up and began typing out a reply.

"I need to talk to him first -SH"

The phone began ringing in his hands. He answered it with a steady hand and held it to his ear. A female voice answered.

"You don't tell anyone about this conversation and you don't tell anyone where you are going tonight."

"Okay."

\------------------

Mycroft jumped at the sound of the basement door slamming shut. He readied himself for pain as he heard the fall of hurried footsteps. He was surprised when the woman pressed a phone into his bloody hand. He looked at her in confusion. He didn't ask why. He wasn't allowed to speak.

"It's your brother, you can speak to him, pest. If you tell him about my little plan I will kill your precious Gregory."

He couldn't raise his hand to his ear fast enough. "Sherlock? Sherlock, are you okay? Is Greg okay?" He stammered. His voice hoarse from disuse.

"We're okay, Mycroft. I need you to give me access to the prison so I can release Moriarty."

"No."

"Mycroft. It's easier to just do what she wants. I'll deal with it after you get back home."

"Sherlock, it won't work. It's a bad plan. Please don't do this." He put on his best stern voice hoping Sherlock would give up.

"It's the only plan. Give me the code word."

Realizing there was no stopping his younger brother he relented. "It's… Lestrade."

"Of course it is. I'm coming, please just sit tight."

Mycroft slowly passed the phone back to the woman. She brought it to her ear and hissed.

"Tonight, Mr. Watson-Holmes. I expect you and Jim in my driveway. Make a mistake and I kill him. You have till three am. Good luck."


	10. The Rescue Mission

The ambulance ride was silent. They didn't have the sirens on, and Mycroft couldn't hear any from the one trailing behind. He was numb as the EMTs prodded at his face and ribs. He was replaying it all in his head and his throat was sore from his panicked yelling. He stared at his mutilated hands observing them as they shook. It all went so wrong so fast, and for once in his adult life, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

They’d done CPR for what felt like centuries on him with Mycroft staring at him motionless. He screamed at them about the poison and the pregnancy but they didn’t seem to care. They were too busy just trying to get his heart started again. Mycroft was wrapped into a shock blanket and pulled into one of the two ambulances. He tried to protest when he was strapped to a bed and the doors closed.

\---------------  
4 hours earlier

Sherlock stared at the ceiling trying to figure out how tonight was supposed to go. He turned towards John and was glad to see him deep in sleep. So deep the snores were louder than normal. He placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "I love you." He whispered causing John to grunt in his sleep. He quietly grabbed his clothes before sneaking out of the room. He dressed in the bathroom and went into the main room.

He made quick work of the stairs to Mya's room. He stood over her crib for a moment before deciding to not bother her with his touch. He moved fast through the flat and down the stairs to Greg's flat. He unlocked the door with the spare key and tiptoed in. He snatched the police cruiser's keys and left again.

Getting to the complex was easy. So was name-dropping his brother to get through the security and into the prison. He followed a guard to the cell in silence. He didn't want to alert Moriarty to his presence just yet.

They reached the cell after a maze of halls and rooms. The guard asked him for the code and Sherlock whispered it into his ear. The guard nodded before unlocking what seemed like twenty different doors and security measurements. He entered leaving Sherlock standing alone outside. About two minutes passed before the guard dragged a cuffed Moriarty out of the cell.

Moriarty the guard disappeared again and returned with a bag of what Sherlock deduced was Moriarty's belongings. Moriarty looked at the bag and down to his cuffed hands. That was when Sherlock noticed the simple wooden cane that he used to hold himself steady.

"Hey, you wouldn't mind would you?" Moriarty gestured to the bag.

Sherlock snatched it from the guard. "No, not at all." He snipped.

"Thank you, sir." He sarcastically replied. "That bullet did quite some damage on the old limb. Thought they might amputate it." Moriarty explained as Sherlock led them back through the maze.

"They should've." Sherlock snapped again. He just wanted to deliver this arse and go home with his family.

"That's not very nice, Sherl!" He pouted.

"What wasn't nice was the bullet you lodged into my husband's brain. What wasn't nice was the five months my daughter didn't have a father. So consider this a mercy. I could easily toss you in a river and watch you drown, but I'm not. So shut the hell up and let's just go." Sherlock rounded Moriarty and began pushing him to move faster.

"So that's what's different about you? You're a father. That's hilarious, actually. A domesticated psychopath. How charming. Also, you forget that I didn't actually shoot your doctor."

"Shut up."

Sherlock managed to get them both into the car with minor frustration. He had Moriarty in the back and his bag of crap on the passenger seat. They drove in almost silence save for Moriarty's tuneless humming.

\-------------

John startled awake at the sound of his own snore. He shivered at the winter air and scooted closer to Sherlock for a warm cuddle. However, as he scooted he never felt the heat of another body. He shot up and flipped on the lamp. The clock read 2:54 am. He grew confused at the sight of Sherlock's empty side of the bed. He got up and peaked into the hall. He hoped Sherlock was getting a drink or in the bathroom. There were no lights on, and no sign of his husband.

He traveled to the hall where he saw Sherlock's coat was missing along with his shoes. An intense fear filled his mind and he wasn't even aware he was running down the stairs and bursting into Greg's flat. He rushed into the bedroom and began shaking the older man awake.

"Piss off, My. I'm not giving you the blankets." The lump on the bed hissed.

"It's John, Greg."

He removed the blanket from over his head and looked tiredly at John. "What is going on?"

"Sherlock, he snuck out," John explained his breathing coming out in panicked pants.

Greg groaned. "It's Sherlock, he's done this for years. Why are you concerned about it now?"

"This feels different. Something feels wrong." He explained while anxiously tugging at his hair.

"Fine, come on then." Greg climbed out of bed and slipped on a pair of slippers. They walked into the kitchen where Greg turned on the lights.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Greg yelled.

"What, what's wrong?"

"Your husband stole my keys!"

“Where do you think he went?”

“Somewhere that he couldn’t get to by running or taxi.”

\-----------------

Sherlock dragged Moriarty into the yard and waited. He was regretting his decision not to bring a gun or John. Moriarty shredded the grass with the edge of his cane and whistled low in his throat as they waited. The front door swung open revealing a young woman, the woman he realized was on the security tapes. Moriarty perked up at the sight and a malicious smile crossed his face.

"Ana." He whispered, mostly to himself.

The woman's eyes were filled with excitement. "Oh good, you listened! Hold on just a minute." The woman (Ana) turned back into the house before returning a few minutes later. Sherlock stoically looked at his brother. He didn't want to show how shocked he was at his state.

Mycroft looked out into the yard and could see Sherlock, though he was blurry through his bruised eye. He was cold, very very cold. It felt nice compared to the raging fire that was constantly in his veins. Ana yanked him back behind her causing him to lose balance on his feet and tumble against the door frame.

"Come in, Sherlock. I'd like to do this interaction inside." She explained as she opened the door wider. Sherlock grunted in irritation before grabbing Moriarty by his shirt and dragging him inside with him.

The house was small and bare. The only things included a table that held a single mug of tea and a chair.

"Have a seat, Sherlock. Enjoy the tea." She gestured to the table.

"I think I'm good." He tightened his grip on Moriarty's shirt.

"It's not a choice, dear. Drink the tea, all of it." Ana had pulled out a gun and had it pressed to Mycroft's temple.

Mycroft stared at him with sad eyes. Sherlock was desperately trying to read his face for any other emotion. Sherlock sighed before releasing the man and sitting at the table. He really didn't have a choice. He hadn't brought a gun or anyone with him. He hoped it was just a simple innocent cup of tea, but he knew different.

Mycroft suddenly found his voice. "Sherlock, don't do this. It's dumb." He cringed as the pistol dug into his scalp.

"Trust me."

Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath before lifting the mug. He was doing this for his family. It would be worth it. They'd hurt for a while, but they'd live. He hoped that maybe it was enough for Greg to forgive him, and to make up for everything he'd done for him. Mycroft closed his eyes, not wanting to witness this. Sherlock quickly chugged the tea.

He slammed the mug onto the counter before standing. "Let's go home, Mycroft."

Ana pushed him forward causing Mycroft to fall into his brother who caught him easily. “Thanks for the deal, boys!” Moriarty stood beside her with a smirk.

Sherlock led him out to the police cruiser and positioned him so he was laying in the back.

"Are you okay, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked.

"Fine, better than fine. Do you need a hospital?"

"Ew, god no."

He climbed into the driver's seat and sped off. As he rounded the corner he picked up his phone. He was dismayed to see missed messages from both John and Greg. He tapped John's contact and dialed him.

"Oh my god, Sherlock! Where the fuck are you?" John screamed into the phone. "Greg is pissed you stole his car, and I'm pissed you ran off!"

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I have Mycroft with me. We'll be home in a few minutes."

"You have Mycroft? How'd you manage that?"

"I didn't." Sherlock hung up without a further explanation.

Sherlock drove for about two minutes before sudden drowsiness overcame him. He slowed to a stop and leaned back into the seat. He was dying. He was really going to die. He wished he knew what to expect. He heard Mycroft shuffling to sit up behind him.

"Mycroft, can you drive?"

"I'm sorry, not with my eye bruised shut. …why did you do it, Sherlock?" He reached forward to grab his shoulder to ensure that he was there.

"Sentiment. I need you to tell John something because I'm not gonna let him watch this happen to me.” Sherlock gripped the phone in his hand like a lifeline. Feeling sick that that was probably the last time he’d get to hear his husband.

"Sherlock, no, you aren't dying on the side of the road in my boyfriend's car! You aren't dying at all! Give me the phone, I'm calling an ambulance and John." Sherlock weakly passed back the phone. His breathing coming-out out in pants.

"Tell him that I love him, and tell Greg I'm sorry." Sherlock closed his eyes feeling a migraine of all hell come upon him.

“You can do that yourself once this is over. I don’t need to.” Mycroft recognized the sound of shallow breathing. He quickly called an ambulance and painfully crawled over the console into the passenger seat. “Hey, Sherlock. John told me I had to keep this a secret, but I simply can’t respect his wishes. John bought a dog, Sherlock. He wanted to surprise you for your birthday next week. He’s been with Molly. It’s an Irish Setter. You know like Redbeard?” Sherlock nodded in understanding. “Tell me about Redbeard.”

“Mycroft, this is stu- stupid. I know what you’re doing. It doesn't do anything to stop...this.” Sherlock slurred.

“It’s not for you. It’s for me. Now talk.” Mycroft playfully bumped his shoulder.

“Fine. He was a dog.”

“Sherlock.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“What are you thinking about right now?”

“I miss him. I’m glad I get to see him again.”


	11. Sometimes Things Fail

Mycroft ignored Greg’s attempt at conversation. He didn’t wanna talk about it, or about anything at all. It had been two days and he hadn’t seen anyone but Gregory. He just laid there in a drugged induced haze glad he couldn’t feel anything. He woke up last night to his own screams and panicked nurses holding him down for sedation. All he saw before he fell asleep again was Greg’s pity filled eyes. It made him angry, and he wasn’t sure why. Greg was careful not to mention either Sherlock or John. The injuries he sustained were nothing compared to how incredibly heartbroken he was. Not even Greg could seem to make a difference in the cloud that muddled his mind.

"I wish you would talk to me." Greg sighed. “My, I'm gonna go home and get some sleep. I’m gonna have John come sit with you for a bit.” Greg explained as he pressed a gentle kiss to his partner's forehead. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Mycroft didn’t move or respond. He just reached beside himself and fiddled with the morphine until he was pleasantly numb and tired. He turned slowly on to his uninjured side and fell asleep. He groaned as he felt fingers pressing around the I.V. and at his ribs.

“Sorry, sorry just wanted to see how everything is going. Your ribs are healing nicely.” Mycroft opened his eyes to see John Watson-Holmes looking down at him.

He felt sick at the sight and flailed for the bedpan beside him. John saw the signs of oncoming sickness and shoved the pan into his lap as he was sick. He heaved as John rubbed comforting circles onto his back.

“Are you in pain?” John asked. “Actually, I don’t know why I asked you that. Greg said you won’t speak.” John adjusted the pain meds anyway.

Mycroft was confused at John’s behavior. He could see heavy grief in his eyes but it was hidden behind his instinct to be a doctor. Mycroft wanted to tell him to leave and go home. His husband died and he died in Mycroft’s arms.

“You don’t have to talk about it. I’m just gonna sit with you until Greg or someone comes back. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone right now.”

Mycroft felt an odd urge to say something. "He said he loved you."

"Sherlock? He says it every day."

"He's with Redbeard now."

"Did no one tell you, Mycroft?" Mycroft looked at him in confusion. "Sherlock is okay. I mean he's really sick, but he's alive."

Mycroft looked at him with a sad expression. "The baby?"

John frowned and turned his head to hide the tears that immediately started gathering in his eyes. "It didn't make it."

"I'm sorry, John."

"Yeah, well, unfortunately, a sorry doesn't bring back a baby." He noticed the guilt that filled Mycroft's eyes. "Shit, sorry. It's not your fault that it happened. I'll have Sherlock come to see you when he wakes up. He might not want to though. He's still pretty sore from the surgery, and his body has been purging that drug."

"When can I go home?"

"Probably tomorrow. You had some pretty superficial injuries and there isn't much healing you can do just sitting in a bed."

"I- thank you."

John moved towards the door. “I’m gonna go grab some tea from the place down the street. I’m sure you’d love a fancy cuppa.”

“It does sound nice.”

\---------------  
Two days prior

John ran into the hospital as fast as his legs could carry him with Greg fast on his heels. He rushed past the front desk. He didn’t need to check-in or anything he was an employee anyways. He couldn’t seem to move fast enough despite nearly knocking over ten people on the way up the stairs. As he entered the area he saw something he never thought he would see.

Mycroft was hysterical and inconsolable. He was screaming at the nurses trying to restrain him. John could barely understand what he was saying. He picked up phrases here and there. “He’s dead!” “I killed him!” “Don’t fucking touch me!” Greg slowed his pace as he approached the and motioned for the staff to step aside.

“Hey, you need to calm down. You’re safe now.” Greg grabbed a hand hoping to provide comfort. “They just want to help.”

“I’m sorry, I tried to stop him, he didn’t care.” Mycroft cried, gripping onto Greg's hand with pure force.

John froze in his steps. He grabbed a nearby EMT and spun them around to face him. "What happened, where's my husband?"

"I'm not sure we know it's some sort of poisoning from what we've been able to hear from Mr. Holmes. His heart stopped twice. He's been taken immediately to the O.R. Whatever is in his system caused a miscarriage and we can't seem to stop the bleeding." The EMT explained in a calm gentle voice.

"When can I see him?"

"I'm not sure you'll have to speak to a nurse or something." John nodded in understanding before marching off to the waiting room.

Greg watched the interaction out of the corner of his eye but he was more focused on his partner.

"It's okay, it sounds like he's okay, My. You can calm down now." Greg pulled his hand out of Mycroft's grip and rested it on his chest. "Your hands are pretty torn up, try not to move them too much. The doctors are going to come to patch you up, do you want me to stay with you?"

Mycroft whimpered and reached out for Greg's other hand. "My, don't touch anything."

A doctor approached them with a needle of some sort. "I'm gonna go ahead and give him a sedative for the shock."

Greg nodded. "Okay."

\--------------

Sherlock rolled onto his side away from the offending bright lights. He felt the best he'd felt in the past two days. It was hard waking up after the surgery to find out he'd lost a pregnancy. It was his own stupid fault. He had told John he was fine and that it was just a collection of cells but his husband could always see straight through him. John just sat with him during the two days to rub his back as he puked and lay with him when his mood got dark.

The worst thing was, he was angry at his brother. Angry that Mycroft had gotten himself into this situation because he didn't listen. It caused a spiral of effects that wounded a little family. However, when he could hear the screams from the room beside him all anger faded for a moment.

He sat up and held his eyes open to adjust to the bright lights. He felt sore but still was not going to stop him from what he wanted to do. He fumbled for the I.V. line and easily clamped it and disconnected. He hoisted himself from the bed before walking painfully to the door.

He made his way into Mycroft's room with minimal effort. He froze in the doorway feeling kind of awkward in the presence of Mycroft in a weakened state. He lowered himself into a chair beside the bed. Glancing around the room he saw the differences between his and Mycroft's. Mycroft didn't have any flowers or cards sitting around unlike Sherlock whose entire bedside table was covered. The room was stripped of anything remotely personal besides Mycroft's reading glasses sitting on the side of him.

He was thankful that Mycroft didn't look any worse, but he also didn't look any better. The older man was perched upright on the pillows staring out the windows across from him. Sherlock didn't understand why. The view was far from perfect, especially in London's cold dreary winter.

"Hello." Sherlock greeted trying to fill his tone with playfulness.

"I'm sorry." Mycroft bowed his head in shame.

Sherlock furrowed his brows in confusion. As far he was concerned Mycroft had never been sorry for anything in his life. Especially when it came to his troublemaking little brother.

"Excuse me?"

"The baby… I'm sorry." Mycroft swallowed passed the lump in his throat.

"Don't be. There's nothing to be sorry for. I made the choice I made and I got the consequences that I deserved. I'm sure if we wanted to in the future we could try for another child. Oddly enough, I think I'm perfectly fine with only Mya anyways."

"I thought you were dead, Sherlock. No one told me until an hour ago." Mycroft sucked in a shaky breath trying to hold back his tears.

"Well, here I am. Alive." Sherlock gestured to himself.

"They- they couldn't revive you… the sirens weren't on… and- and I couldn't do anything." Mycroft allowed a single tear to slide down his cheek. "I thought you'd die thinking I hated you."

"Mycroft-"

"I know I'm overbearing, and I know I'm snoopy and rude-"

"Mycroft-"

"And I'm distant and cold-"

"Mycroft!" The older man shot his head up from where he was staring at his hands. "You are indeed all of those things but that doesn't make me hate you. If I hated you for putting cameras in my flat then I would've left you for dead." Sherlock laughed lightly.

"Thank you." Mycroft shifted his position on the bed to be more comfortable. "For not leaving me to die, that is.”

Sherlock made a pained expression. “Gregory would have surely murdered me if I did.” The younger Holmes thought back to the days prior when Greg had accused him and insulted him. It still burned deep inside knowing that someone he respected so much regretted saving his life. He shook the thoughts out of his head. “I’m glad to see you’re recovering quite well.”

John entered the room balancing three cups of tea perfectly on the tray with one hand. He handed one to Mycroft, and one to Sherlock before placing a gentle kiss on the top of his husband’s head.

“Sherlock, I thought you’d be asleep for a few more hours.” He said as he took a seat on the other side of the bed.

“That peppy nurse woke me up. I couldn’t possibly get back to sleep after being probed.” Sherlock took a long sip from the cup. "I should probably head back to my room."

Sherlock stood and walked to the doorway. "By the way, please stop ignoring Gregory. He's missed you quite dearly."

\------------  
Greg was so worn out as he entered the flat. He tossed his shoes beside the door and immediately fell onto the couch. He was so frustrated with his partner's behavior.

Why wouldn't My just talk to him?

He tried to put it down to just the shock of everything but he was hurt that he wouldn't speak to him. He responded to the nurses and he heard him answer John when he had left. He couldn't dwell on his thoughts for long as Gwen's bedroom door swung open.

"Are you okay pa?" She asked as she came and wrapped his arms around him.

Greg wasn't sure when she started referring to Mycroft and him as Pa, and Dad. He never corrected it as he found he didn't mind at all. Mycroft was actually her dad after all… and Greg was well… Greg didn't really know who he was to her.

"Yeah, the Holmes' are just stubborn people." Greg sat up and patted the cushion beside him. Gwen smiled and hopped up.

She fiddled with her fingers before looking up with a slightly guilty expression. "You left your phone here. I snooped." She admitted.

Greg arched an eyebrow in mild amusement. She was definitely Mycroft's daughter. "What did you find?"

"Is it true?" She asked.

Greg cocked his head in confusion. "What?"

"Is Mycroft my dad?"

"Uh… yes. Yes, he is. I was hoping that maybe he would be the one to tell you."

"It's okay. I don't mind. He's nicer than mom and dad were."

"What do you mean?" He leaned forward onto his elbows.

"They never played with me. They said I was dangerous, and-and strange. They never let me go to normal school. They said I would scare the other kids."

Greg reached out and brushed the hair out of her face. "Don't ever let someone tell you that being strange or different is wrong. You have this amazing gift that no one else has. If you want to go to school then I'll get you into school. We embrace freaks in this family." Greg said with affection and firmness.

"Thank you, Pa."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before she spoke up again. "Is Uncle Sherlock upset with me?"

"No of course not! Why would you think that?" Lestrade changed his posture and looked at Gwen.

"He doesn't come down here anymore."

Greg frowned. "He's been looking for your dad."

"But he always looks so sad."

"...I never noticed."


	12. Forgiveness

One week later

Sherlock snuggled into the blankets drowning out the sound of John's alarm clock. He grew confused when he didn't feel the bed move or hear the alarm stopping. He shot up and glanced around the barely lit room. He heard a distant whimpering coming from somewhere else in the house. He started to remove the blankets from his torso but jumped at the sound of the bedroom door swinging open and John marching in. The older man clicked off the alarm clock and smiled lovingly at his husband.

“Happy Birthday, dear!” John exclaimed as he sat down at the edge of the bed.

Sherlock groaned in annoyance. “Don’t remind me. I’m one year away from being forty now.”

“It doesn’t matter much. You’ll be running down alleyways till you’re eighty. Anyways, I have a surprise for you- well I guess it isn’t really a surprise anymore considering Mycroft apparently told you.” John ran a nervous hand through his greying hair.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about?” Sherlock sat up straighter.

“Herriot!” John shouted from the bed causing Sherlock to jump at the unexpected noise.

Sherlock turned to see a small puppy bouncing down the hallway and into their bedroom. John reached beside himself to pick up the puppy and drop it straight onto Sherlock’s chest. The puppy, Herriot, immediately began licking at his face.

“John, what?” Sherlock moved the puppy so that he could look at his face.

“It was Mycroft’s idea but I thought maybe our family was missing something,” John explained as he reached over to rub Herriot’s ears. “I know the name is pretty lame but Molly insisted that I find something to call him. You can change it if you’d like. I thought Herriot was fitting like David Herriot. That's a lie actually I googled names of pirates and picked the first one that felt right."

Sherlock smiled and nearly knocked the older man off the bed as he launched into his arms. "I love him, John. I love the dog, I love his name, and I love you."

"I'm glad you like him, I was afraid you'd be offended," John admitted with a blushing face.

"Offended? Because he looks like Redbeard? That hardly matters darling."

John opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the sound of the front door opening. "Ah, I suppose that's the rest of our family coming in for a visit. I'll take Riot with me while you get dressed." John plucked the puppy from his husband's lap before leaving the room.

Sherlock rolled out of bed and trudged towards his closet. He wasn't sure what to think since it was the first time he was seeing Mycroft and Gregory since his release from the hospital. He'd heard from John that they were doing well and currently planning to turn Mycroft's office into a nursery and put his desk in Greg's office instead. The thought of that made him kind of sad. He wouldn't get to plan a nursery again or go through a pregnancy with someone by his side. He shook the thoughts from his head and pulled on a pair of clothes.  
\------------  
Greg leaned his head onto Mycroft's shoulder as the car drove them across London to the Watson-Holmes' flat. Mycroft seemed to be adjusting to normal life smoothly. He had mild nightmares but it was nothing compared to when he'd nearly lost Sherlock to an overdose on his 24th birthday. He could vividly remember the sound the cake made as it hit the floor due to Mycroft's shock of seeing Sherlock. He quickly shut away from the memories of Sherlock's vomit soaked carpet and bloodied hands.

He scooted closer to his partner and wrapped an arm around him. He knew Greg was beginning to struggle with pregnancy. The two men often got little sleep at night because of Greg's seemingly endless morning sickness. Apparently, it was a result of male genetics still adjusting to the ability to produce children. The illness was the body trying to purge itself of a foreign object as if it was a parasite.

"Is Sherlock okay, My?" Greg asked as he grabbed his husband's hand and rested them over his bump. "Gwen said something about him seeming sad."

Mycroft sighed sadly and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Miscarriages are hard on the body."

"Miscarriage? He never told me he was pregnant." Greg sat up straighter and gave Mycroft a confused look.

"Yes, from what I can gather he didn't want anyone to know until I was found. I suppose he was just trying to focus all of the attention on finding me." Mycroft tugged his hand from Greg's grasp. "Be gentle with him Gregory. Gwen told me about your fight."

"Oh god- you don't think that's why he did it, do you?"

"Yes, I believe that he did intentionally drink the poison in order to keep his promise to you. However, Sherlock is thirty-nine and you are in no way responsible for his actions."

"He nearly died and left a husband and daughter because I was mad over something that he couldn't control. You can say it isn't my fault. But it is."

"Gregory- it really isn't. I daresay that he wasn't thinking clearly because of hormones and whatnot."

"He must be so heartbroken, My."  
\----------------

Sherlock nervously made his way into the living room where he found his family. Mya was busy on the floor playing with Riot's tail while Gwen plucked through a case file that Sherlock had left laying out. Greg was slouched into the couch while Mycroft perched on the armrest of it.

Greg smiled as the youngest man entered the room. "Happy birthday, Sherlock. I actually have something for you."

"None of you needed to gift me anything. I'm simply aging a year." Sherlock lowered himself into his own chair with a low groan still feeling sore from the surgery.

"Well, I figured I needed to make a big deal out of it considering the circumstances." Greg laughed slightly before pulling a thick envelope from under the couch.

He handed the envelope to Sherlock with almost steady hands. "It was Anderson's idea. He said you'd been looking into positions for a while."

Sherlock furrowed his brows in confusion before pulling the items from the envelope. It contained a badge, a lab coat, and a special crime scene pass. He looked up with tearful eyes as he gripped the coat in his hands.

"Thank you… Greg." Sherlock said the man's name in a whisper.

"No need to thank me, you deserve it. You've worked with us for over a decade and it's time you get paid for it. I imagine Riot might make a fine officer as well." Greg reached below himself to scratch along Riot's back as the pup rubbed up against the couch.

"I suppose he will." Sherlock agreed as he lifted his daughter from the floor and into his lap.

Lestrade looked towards Mycroft and John. "Would you two mind if I talked to Officer Watson-Holmes alone for a moment?" Greg teased lightly but eyed the door.

John and Mycroft silently left the room leaving Sherlock and Greg alone. Not counting a young Mya Grace Watson-Holmes and a slumbering puppy.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry." Greg nervously began to rub circles on his small bump.

"It's fine. I understand. I let you down. I'm sorry that I broke our promise and I burdened you for years." Sherlock looked down in shame.

"You didn't let me down. I was angry and hurt and it wasn't even about you. It was my fault that I didn't even do anything to help you. I don't ever want you to say that you are a burden, because you're not. I think you being in my life changed everything for the better." Greg stood and moved towards the younger man. He grabbed him by the dressing gown and pulled him in for a death gripping hug. Obviously he avoided squishing the toddler between them.

"Thank you, Greg."

"I'm sorry about the baby, you didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve any of it."

"It's okay." He whispered but his voice was rough with sorrow. "We'll be okay."

Greg unfurled himself from the hug and stepped back. "Anderson is looking forward to working with you. Surprising, I know, but he seems to enjoy your company more than he lets on."

"He's going to try to befriend me isn't he?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Probably yeah." Greg reached towards Mya and gave her a gentle poke on the nose that made her laugh. "I'm gonna head home now I promised Gwen I would play a game with her tonight."

"Very well. John and I have special plans for tonight."

"Oh, what's that?"

"He said it's a surprise but he's making a special dinner and having Mrs. Hudson watch Mya."

Greg opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a fussy Mya Grace. "I'll see you soon, Sherlock."

Greg left the room and met his partner downstairs by the car. Gwen was already in the car after spending some time with Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock sighed as the door to the flat closed, finally, leaving his little family alone. He held his daughter closer and combed his fingers through her black curls. She giggled in response and reached for his nose.

"Well, aren't you grabby today." He teased.

"Da!" She squealed happily. "I walk!"

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow in amusement and looked at John by the door. "Is that so, sweetheart?"

John laughed and moved towards them. "Well, put her down and see if she'll walk."

Sherlock shrugged and set her on the rug. He was skeptical about this but he had reason to believe also. She was already so smart with her communication it was certainly possible. John and Sherlock watched intently as she crawled across the floor. He was secretly extremely excited about it as they'd been attempting to teach her for a while.

"Da! Hand!" She made a grabby hand for her father. Sherlock reached down and offered his hand in which she used to hoist herself up. After she was on her two feet Sherlock hesitated before letting go. She wobbled on her feet before taking a step.

John looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Our daughter walked. Sherlock our baby is walking! Oh my god, she's walking!" John reached over and eloped his husband in a crushing hug and a very hard kiss. "I love you, you incredible ridiculous man!"

"I can't decide what my favorite birthday present is." Sherlock laughed and turned back to watch Mya. She was happily trotting around slowly when Riot accidentally knocked her over as he ran past.

"Oh god!" Sherlock panicked and prayed for his hearing as he could feel the incoming screaming. Instead, he was greeted by hysterical giggling and a flustered John.

Sherlock pondered for a moment. Realizing that even after losing a pregnancy he still wanted a baby.

"John? If you're willing I would like to have another child when I'm better." Sherlock blurted out, not really thinking about it.

John nodded. "Me too."

\----------------  
The night of the Reichenbach Fall

Greg couldn't seem to stop the shaking of his hands as he sat in his office. He stared blankly at the wall trying to understand what he had seen. Trying to understand that his best friend was gone. His throat was raw from screaming at the morgue workers. They had refused to show him Sherlock's body. They claimed that the body was far too ruined for even a homicide detective to be comfortable with. Especially one whose best friend was the victim. Greg jumped at the sound of his office door opening.

"Gregory?" Mycroft stepped into the room and closed the door behind himself. "Darling talk to me."

"How are you so calm?" Greg felt a wave of strange anger grow inside him. "He was your brother, Mycroft! He killed himself in front of us and there's no one to blame but ourselves!"

"Greg-"

"No! I called him a fake! I believed everyone but him! I've known him for over ten years and I still didn't believe him!" Greg let out a harsh sob. "How can you look at me like that?"

Mycroft moved to lean on the edge of Greg's desk. "Like what?"

"With that much adoration. I'm a monster, My. I cheated on my wife with you! Now your brother is dead because of me."

"Greg for the love of God please stop." Mycroft rubbed a frustrated hand down his chin and tried to rub away the tears threatening to fall.

Mycroft took a deep breath. He knew as soon as he spoke his next words that he would get up and walk away forever. He reached over and gripped Greg's hand in his own. "Gregory, I love you."

"What's going on?" Greg's eyes darted across his face trying to find an answer.

"Sherlock isn't dead. We faked it so that he could go take down Moriarty's web. You can't tell John, he'll be in danger."

Greg yanked his hand out of Mycroft's grasp and stood abruptly. "You what?"

Mycroft stayed silent, unable to look him in the eyes. "Get out. Get out and never come back."

"Greg-"

"This relationship was supposed to be based on complete transparency and you still can't stop lying to me." Greg shook his head in disappointment as tears streamed down his reddened cheeks.

"I wasn't lying to you! I was just doing what was safest for you! If anyone else had known about the plan then you would've died, so would John and Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft fiddled with the end of his waistcoat.

Greg reached and grabbed Mycroft's hand. "I'm sorry, you're right. I know you wouldn't do anything like that without reason. I suppose I should be grateful that Sherlock is alive."

"Greg, you really must not tell John about Sherlock. They had a very close bond."

"How long is Sherlock going to be gone?" Greg questioned.

"I don't know, he may never come back," Mycroft admitted with a slight sadness in his voice.

"If he does come back, John is going to kill him."


	13. A Proposal

Greg rolled over and shoved a pillow underneath his stomach trying to get comfortable for the fiftieth time. Mycroft was growing impatient with the movement of the bed from his partner's constant tossing and turning. Mycroft's back was killing him and the only thing he wanted was to just sleep. Mycroft was finally starting to drift off when the bed shifted again.

"For fuck's sake!" Greg shouted and threw the pillow off the bed in the direction of the door. Mycroft jumped at the yell and groaned in frustration.

"Greg, darling, Gwen is sleeping. You don't want to wake her up do you?" Mycroft pleaded with his face shoved into the pillow.

"Shut up, Mycroft!" Greg screeched.

"Greg-"

"Just go sleep on the couch. You snoring isn't helping me right now."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and dragged himself out of bed. He knew better than to challenge Greg during his mood swings. He was seven months pregnant and pissier than ever before. Mycroft did his best to ignore and accommodate him which meant sleeping on their couch and ruining his back.

He snatched his pillow up and trudged into the living room. He didn't even bother with a blanket as he was just far too tired. Secretly he was a bit glad to be kicked from their bed because it made it easier to hide his nightmares. Greg didn't need to know that he was being affected by it.

Mycroft groaned at the intrusive morning light shining through the windows. He'd managed to get three uninterrupted hours of sleep. He sat up and snatched the bottle of paracetamol off the coffee table. He dry swallowed two before standing and going into the bedroom. He smiled fondly at the sight of Greg sprawled in the middle of the bed with the blankets kicked to the end. Mycroft bent down with a grunt and recovered his partner. He proceeded to tuck in the ends and give him a quick kiss.

He quietly grabbed a suit from his wardrobe cringing at the squeaking door. A sleepy voice from behind startled him. "My?" Greg asked with his eyes still firmly closed.

"I'm sorry darling, I was just leaving for work." He explained as he moved towards the door.

"Can you be late?" Greg asked groggily, opening his eyes.

Mycroft glanced at him in confusion. "Depends on what for? Is something wrong?"

Greg sat up, well, he sat up as much as he could with a smirk on his face. "How about it's 6:30 in the morning and I'm feeling frisky?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. "Morning sex, really?" He laughed as he set the suit onto the dresser.

"Just take off your pants, Mycroft."

An hour later both men were content as they cuddled together. Mycroft was lazily rubbing circles onto Greg's stomach with his other arm trapped under his head. Greg reached down and intertwined his fingers with Mycroft's.

"I'm sorry," Greg stated.

"For what?"

"Being an arse. I shouldn't have kicked you out of bed last night and all the nights before that. I know that I've been unbearable lately. I can't believe you've been so patient. I was sure you were gonna kill me last week for waking you up to go to the supermarket."

Mycroft sighed against Greg's neck. "You think I care about that? Gregory, we tried for over a year to have a child and we had this wonderful miracle happen. I would do anything for you and both our children. I will sleep on the couch every night, make you whatever stupid concoction you want to eat, and carry you from the bed to the toilet if you want me to. I don't know how else to prove that you are everything and I love you other than-" Mycroft paused for a moment.

Greg turned so that he was facing his partner. "What?"

Mycroft didn't answer as he turned and dug into the bedside drawer and produced a small black leather box. Greg's eyes grew wide with fear but said nothing.

"Gregory Lestrade, would you do me the honor of being your husband?" Mycroft opened the box and revealed the simple gold band.

Greg stared at him searching in his eyes for something other than the pure love he was sending. He could feel tears gathering in his eyes and beginning to fall as he knew the answer he was going to give. He wasn't crying for himself. He was crying for Mycroft and how he was about to shatter his heart.

"...Mycroft, I'm sorry, no." He reached over and gently closed the box and pushed his back towards Mycroft.

The love that was in Mycroft's eyes burned out with the intensity of throwing sand on a campfire. The older man wordlessly stood and placed the box into the nightstand before grabbing his suit and leaving.

Greg let out a sob as he heard the front door of the flat close. He thought Mycroft understood that he didn't want to get married. He thought that he respected the promise he had made to his dying ex-wife. Greg knew how it looked in Mycroft's head, it didn't look good. He turned and sobbed into the pillow hoping that he wouldn't wake Gwen up.

\----------------  
Sherlock was busy. Well, not really busy but he was currently ignoring a pregnancy test that he had taken over two hours ago. He was intently scrubbing the stove as Mya watched cartoons when there was a knock on the door. Sherlock paused wiping his hands on a nearby cloth before going to answer the door. He was surprised to see Mycroft still in his pajamas and holding a suit at his door.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock asked as he motioned him to come in.

"He said no," Mycroft explained his tone cold and emotionless. Sherlock was caught off guard by the icey tone considering it had been a while since he'd heard his brother like that.

"What?" Sherlock asked confused as he took a seat in his armchair.

"I asked him to marry me and he said no. I-i don't even know why I came here. I should go to work." He turned towards the door.

"Mycroft, wait. Please sit. I don't mind if you want to talk about it." Sherlock's voice dripped with concern.

Mycroft stiffly settled on the sofa. "I'm a fool to believe someone like that could want me. I'm the iceman after all." He sneered at his nickname.

"You must be missing something. That doesn't sound like Gregory. He loves you, for godsakes, you're having a baby together."

"Well, it is! He told me no. He's been pushing me away for weeks now. Maybe he just finally realized what kind of person I am." Mycroft stood. "I need to go to work. Can I use your restroom to change?"

"Yeah, of course."

Mycroft changed quickly and was about to open the bathroom door when he spotted something on the counter. He turned to observe it and noted it was a pregnancy test. A positive one. He shrugged before leaving the restroom.

"Hey Sherlock, why aren't you at work?" Mycroft asked as he adjusted the cuffs of his suit.

"I wasn't feeling well this morning." He explained.

He waved goodbye to Sherlock before fast walking to his car.

Mycroft stayed late at the office, not even doing work. He just drank in silence until everyone in the building had long since left. He slammed back the remaining half of his glass and poured another. It burned as it ran down his throat but it was nothing compared to how he really felt.

He'd spent all day questioning what on Earth could prompt Gregory to say no. He tried to contemplate every possibility but he felt the only logical one was the one that hurt the most. Greg just didn't love him or at least not enough to commit to him. He growled at the clock on the wall when he noticed it was long past eight o'clock.

He would need to go home soon. No matter what he was still responsible for caring for his pregnant…partner? Were they together anymore? Was Greg leaving him? Mycroft pushed away from the thoughts before capping the bottle and hiding it back in the bottom desk drawer. He dumped the excess liquor into the fake plant on his desk before also putting the glass away.

He stood but wobbled on his feet. He was a little drunk but he didn't really care. He somehow managed to stumble his way into the elevator and out of the building. Thank God he had the foresight to have someone drive him. Anthea gave him odd looks on the way to his flat but he ignored her. He felt oddly fearful about walking into his flat. He wasn't sure if Greg was even there anymore but his car was still parked on the street.

Mycroft drunkenly made his way into the flat and kicked off his shoes at the entrance. He found no sign of Greg or Gwen. He glanced down the hall noticing both doors closed and a light shining from beneath their bedroom door. He made his way into the kitchen and looked into the sink. Seeing it empty told him that Greg hadn't eaten dinner. However, he noticed a bowl in the dishwasher which meant that at least Gwen had been fed.

For the past two months, it was Mycroft's job to do the housework since Greg was on bed rest. He did the laundry, the dishes, cooked the meals, and cleaned up. He didn't mind though it made him feel useful. He opened the fridge before pulling out leftover soup from two days prior. He prepared two bowls. He hadn't eaten either and he wasn't about to fall back into bad habits.

He placed one bowl on a tray with all of Greg's vitamins and a mug of tea. He hesitantly knocked on the bedroom door.

"Greg? I warmed up some soup for you if you're hungry." He explained but received no answer.

The door was unlocked but he couldn't stomach walking into that room and facing him. Especially not when he was mildly plastered. He set the tray in front of the door and went back to the kitchen where he ate his own soup at the counter. He finished and cleaned up the kitchen before deciding to go to bed.

He took off his suit jacket and waistcoat but left on his trousers and dress shirt. He picked up the forgotten paracetamol on the coffee table and took two. He dragged the throw blanket off the back of the couch and snuggled into it.

\-----------------  
"You did this."

Mycroft opened his eyes and looked around. He was panicked to see that horrible basement again. He was even more horrified at the bodies laid before him. His two children, Gregory, Sherlock, Mya Grace, and John. He gagged at the stench of the decomposing bodies.

The woman, Ana, laughed. "You murdered them. You let them care about you and now they have died."

"No i-"

The bodies on the floor jerked to life. Or as alive as they could be. All their eyes were either missing or a murky white. Greg's body sat up with a vicious grin.

"I never loved you."

"What?" Mycroft whimpered as he tugged at the chain around his ankle.

"I stayed because I was scared of you." The body dropped back to the ground lifeless.

Then it was Gwen. "You're a monster, Dad."

Sherlock. "You killed my baby! How could you do that!"

John. "You should've kept starving. You released the man who put me in a coma."

Mya. "Uncle Mykie is bad bad man."

Mycroft screamed. "Stop please just stop!"

Ana stepped forward jabbing him with the iron rod. "All of it's your fault. All the bad that happens in their lives is because of you."

Mycroft screamed as the rod came down upon his ribs.

\------------  
Mycroft flung himself awake, nearly falling off the sofa in the process. His head pounded with the oncoming hangover and his throat was tight from the fear. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before grabbing his phone to check the time. It was only four in the morning but he couldn’t see himself getting back to sleep anytime soon.

“Dad?” Gwen shyly asked from the entrance of the hall.

Mycroft jumped at the unexpected presence. “Yes?”

“I heard you yelling? Are you okay?” She stepped forward to sit beside him.

“Yeah, you know sometimes adults have bad dreams too.” He explained as he gave her a simple pat on the head.

“Is Pa mad at you?”

Mycroft contemplated for a moment. He felt inclined to tell her the truth but he knew that it wasn’t something a little girl needed to worry about. “No, we’re good. Your brother just makes him very uncomfortable and that sometimes makes him moody, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“Can you tuck me back in?” She asked Mycroft as she gave him her best puppy dog eyes.

Mycroft nodded in agreement before following his daughter back to her room. She climbed into bed quickly and smoothed out the covers around her. Mycroft nearly laughed at the size of the bed compared to her. He was glad that he could see nothing of Ana in her features. She was nearly a perfect image of him. Red beautiful hair that curled at the ends and eyes that were a deep ocean blue. It actually reminded him a bit of Sherlock as a child. Except Sherlock was a wide-eyed trouble making little shit.

Mycroft leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before tucking the blanket around her shoulders and feet. “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, Dad.” She yawned and closed her eyes. She was probably asleep before Mycroft had finished closing the door. He leaned against the door and let out a sigh of frustration. He glanced at the floor noticing that the tray had disappeared. He smiled in relief and began his walk back to the sofa. He was at the end of the hall when the bedroom door opened slowly and Greg slipped into the hall.

They stared at each other both unsure what to say and feeling incredibly awkward. Greg cleared his throat. “Are- are you coming to bed, My?” He asked as he kept his eyes downcast to the floor.

Mycroft startled a bit at the question as it wasn’t what he was expecting. Mycroft didn’t trust his voice not to crack so he just nodded and followed. They settled into bed, reverting to the old habit of sleeping as far away from each other as possible. Mycroft reached beside himself onto the nightstand and removed the box. He shoved it back inside the drawer to the very back. Looking at it made him sad. Apparently Greg glanced over his shoulder and saw Mycroft covering the box with junk mail.

“I’m sorry.” Greg flipped back towards the wall.

“It’s...alright.”

Greg huffed. “But it’s not.”

Mycroft flipped over to face Greg’s back but it didn’t prompt the other man to face him. “It is. I don’t know why I thought someone as amazing as you would ever want to be tied down to me.” He admitted with tears filling his eyes.

This prompted Greg to finally flip over but Greg had a look of anger that made Mycroft slightly scared. “That’s not true.”

“Then I don’t understand, Greg.”

“I can’t make that promise to another person. I owe it to Maralyn to not break our vows.”

Mycroft felt his own anger boiling. “Your vows? Gregory, you’re divorced and she’s dead. If you’re still saying that you have vows then what we’re doing right now is cheating.” Mycroft sat up tossing the covers aside.

“I ruined my marriage because I was selfish. I regret it every day of my life, I loved her and our children and I made it all crash and burn.”

Mycroft felt tears begin to fall. “Then you regret us. Your supposed selfishness caused you to end up in my bed every night!”

“Mycroft that’s not what I meant.” Greg felt his anger fade.

Mycroft shook his head and laughed bitterly. “Yes, it was.”

“Mycroft, I didn’t mean it.”

The older man said nothing as he left the room shutting the door more forcefully than needed.

\-------------  
Several Years Prior

Greg’s eyes flickered open and cringed at the incoming sun glaring directly into his eyes. He blinked several times to adjust to the light. He sat up abruptly realizing that he was not in his own bedroom next to his wife. He panicked harder when he realized that he was asleep next to Mycroft Holmes inside of the poshest bedroom he had ever seen. Oh and he was naked. He scrambled out of the bed and fished his clothing from where it had landed around the room. His rustling and panicked breathing caused Mycroft to wake up.

“Leaving so soon, darling?” Mycroft smirked at him as he smoothed out his wild hair.

Greg snapped his head towards him and pointed. “This never happened!” Greg pulled on his trousers and struggled with the button. “Oh god, I slept with Sherlock’s brother. He’s going to kill me!”

“Lestrade-”

“I think we are way past D.I. Lestrade at this point don’t you think?” Greg scoffed as he tugged on his shirt and began buttoning it up.

“Gregory, I do believe it’s none of my brother’s business who we choose to bring into our beds.”

“I’m married, you idiot!” Greg held up his hand and pointed to his ring. “You’re a Holmes who couldn’t spot a married man!”

“And you’re a closeted gay man.” Mycroft shrugged and it made the fire burn in Greg’s blood. “Also I did notice the ring.”

“You still took me to bed?” Greg screeched.

“I’m not the one who's married.”

“Oh shut up! This didn’t happen and it stays between us.” Greg pulled on his coat.

“Understood. I don’t share my sexual encounters with people anyways.”

Greg shook his head in annoyance and stormed out of the flat.


	14. Everything

Greg was eight months pregnant and things hadn't improved. Both men avoided each other and Mycroft continued to sleep on the sofa. Mycroft however, still continued to make Greg dinner and do all the house chores. Mycroft didn't know how to talk about it and Greg didn't want to. They were stuck in a cycle. Greg knew that Mycroft was probably just staying for the baby but he didn't want him to go so he didn't call him out. He'd never felt so stupid for what happened between them. He'd said the wrong thing and he couldn't take it back since it was technically true.

Greg was sleeping when he heard the front door of flat unlock. He looked at his phone and was confused to see it was eleven in the morning on a Tuesday. Mycroft was supposed to be at work. He sat up feeling achy as he'd been having severe back pain for a few days and now he was having painful cramping. He struggled out of bed holding onto his large bump as he waddled into the living room.

"Hello, Detective." A shrill voice called from the doorway.

"Oh for fucksake," Greg whispered under his breath. "What do you want."

Moriarty smiled and sat on the sofa. Greg cringed at it hating the idea of that little parasite on his furniture. "Oh, you know, trying to kill Holmes'."

"How'd you even get in?" Greg asked.

"Mycroft's security is lacking these days. Oh, and I killed them."

Greg rolled his eyes. "He's not home. I can call him?" He was too tired and pissed to play around with this man. He was also not very afraid for some reason.

"That's not needed. I'm going to pick off the loved ones first." Moriarty pointed to Greg's stomach where a red dot was centered. Greg nearly laughed as the drama of a sniper.

"That's a bit dramatic don't you think?" Greg glared at the faint outline of a person from the roof across the street.

"It's what makes the game fun. Anyways, feel free to take a seat. I'm gonna wait until I can put you down in front of your husband."

"We aren't married." Greg wasn't even sure why he was clarifying it. There was a gun pointed at his son, it didn't matter.

"Oh? So no go on the ring? That's too bad."

"Why do you even do this? You are one of the smartest people on Earth and you choose to terrorize the only people like you. Wouldn't you rather, I don't know, help them?"

"Ha, no. Boring. Would you like some tea Detective?" Moriarty asked as he made himself at home digging through their cabinets.

"No! I don't want bloody-" Greg's eyes shot open and he curled into himself as pain spread across his stomach.

Moriarty smiled. "Fantastic! This is even better!"

Gwen peaked her into the room with wide and terrified eyes. "Pa, what's going on?"

Greg cursed under his breath. "Go into your room, do not come out until someone comes to get you. No matter what you hear." He looked towards Moriarty.

"You'll leave her alone." It was firmly stated and he empathized with fire in his eyes.

"Whatever." He gestured for her to go away. "She's not my concern." Gwen sprinted into her room and locked the door.

Greg panted through the pain and uncurled from himself. "Can I call someone?"

"I suppose you may call Doctor Watson as I need him for my plan. However, you are not to alert him of my presence or your labor. I can't have Sherlock and Mycroft bringing in the Calvary."

"Fine, fine whatever!" Greg pulled his mobile from the pocket of his robe and quickly found John's contact. It rang three times before John picked up.

"Hey, Greg." He greeted him.

Greg took a deep breath before putting on his friendliest voice. "Are you busy? I was hoping you'd be up for watching some football?"

"Uh, I'm at work but I can come by later tonight?" John started to sound confused.

"You know what John. I actually don't feel that great and I would really appreciate it if you could come and check me out." Greg tried to keep the panic from his voice.

"I guess so. It's a slow day. I'll be by in about ten?"

"Great, I'll see you soon." Greg hung up and pressed the phone to his forehead in frustration.

Moriarty laughed lightly. "You are a horrible actor."

"I'm a detective you rat." Greg tossed the phone onto the coffee table.

For the next ten minutes, Greg stared at the door impatiently while Moriarty continued to dig through their things. Greg could've cried with joy when he heard a knock on the door. He stayed seated knowing he couldn't move with the gun trained on him. Moriarty bounded to the door and yanked it open with a grin.

"Johnny! I was wondering when you would show up! Do come in!" Moriarty stepped back and allowed John to enter the room. The older man dropped his medical bag to the floor.

"Seriously?" John growled when he noticed the red dot dancing across his friend's stomach. "I guess you're feeling fine after all."

"John, I know this is bad timing but I'm in labor," Greg explained.

John's eyes widened. "How close are the contractions?"

"I'm not sure, maybe 20 minutes? I've been having aches for about a day now."

John pulled at his hair in frustration. "Fuck, Greg! It's too early and obviously, we're stuck in your flat with this pain in the arse!" Moriarty huffed, offended.

"I'm sorry I can't exactly stop it!" Greg yelled as another wave of pain tore through him.

"I know, I'm sorry. This is just a mess now." John sighed as he plopped onto the couch ignoring the red dot on his forehead. They sat for several hours ignoring Moriarty's taunting. John had moved from the couch to the arm of the chair where he held Greg's shaky hand.

The sun had long since disappeared and the flat was lit with only two red dots and a lamp. Greg was praying that for the first time in a month that Mycroft would come home at a normal time. The contractions were getting closer and he was starting to panic. If they didn't deal with Moriarty soon they would be slicing Greg open in the living room. Another flaw with male gestation, natural birth was just not possible.

Moriarty took his phone out of his pocket and responded to something before replacing it. "Looks like your lovebirds will be showing up any minute now." Moriarty wandered towards Greg and reached out to touch his swollen tummy.

"Don't bloody touch me!" He smacked the hand away and curled further into John.

He was nearly in tears from the pain but trying his hardest to continue to appear strong. John was a nice comfort but he wanted Mycroft more. Thinking back to the month prior he wanted to punch himself. He should've said yes, he should've fought harder for their relationship. He should've got on his knees and begged for forgiveness. He could never regret them. He could only regret how he dealt with it.

Even after everything Mycroft still made them dinner and cleaned. He never even complained about it. The thought made him feel so guilty.

A key was in the lock.

The door opened and Greg sucked in a painful breath. Mycroft walked in looking exhausted. When his partner's eyes observed the room his eyes widened in concern.

"Moriarty, how can I help you today?" Mycroft dropped his umbrella on the floor before removing his coat and putting it on the rack.

"Just committing murder." Moriarty waved at the window in a signal. Mycroft and John looked at each other hoping that they were communicating the right thing. Greg gave them an odd look and hissed in pain. Mycroft's eyes widened, "Greg-"

They barely had time to blink before the bullet shattered the window. John, like the hero, launched himself across Greg to guard him. Moriarty glanced through the window confused that only one gun had gone off. As he moved into view of the snipers another shot rang out dropping Moriarty to the ground. He was instantly killed by a gunshot wound to the head. Mycroft stared shocked out the window and wasn’t at all surprised when he saw a distant shadow of a tall slender man. He shook his head in disbelief. Sherlock, of course.

Mycroft felt an odd burning sensation in his side that was forming into a fiery hell. He glanced at his clothes seeing a tear through his waistcoat. He cringed at the blood seeping into his clothes. He pulled his coat around himself tighter. Now was not the time to worry about this tiny wound.

He turned back to John and Greg. John was sitting up confused that neither of them appeared to be injured. Greg suddenly let out a deafening pain-filled scream. “Mycroft, bring me my bag. An ambulance can’t get here fast enough, even if they could they can’t get to the hospital fast enough. I’m gonna have to operate here.”

Mycroft grabbed the bag before sitting on the edge of the coffee and opening it. Greg was panicking as a pressure broke within him and a puddle of liquid covered the cushion.

“Uh, I don’t think this kid is gonna wait any longer.”

Mycroft glanced up from where he was removing gauze from the bag. “Damnit.”

“Mycroft, how much do you care about your mattress?”

Mycroft gave him a wild look. “You’re about to slice open Gregory, I'm more concerned about that then my stupid bed!”

“Greg, can you walk?”

“Yeah.”

\-------------  
Less than five minutes later the bed had been stripped and Greg was laid out across it. John was ripping open packages of sterilized instruments and laying them out on a clean rag. Sherlock passed by the room quickly and disappeared into Gwen's.

"I'm so sorry, Greg. There's nothing I can do to help with the pain until I'm done. I have to start now because we don't have a lot of time before this baby suffocates." John explained. "I called the ambulance already so hopefully they'll get here when I'm done."

Greg whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut. Mycroft sat hesitantly on the edge of the bed before grasping his hand.

"Yes." Greg blurted. Not even really thinking about it.

Mycroft gave him a funny look. "What?"

"I was being so fucking stupid. You are a wonderful man who makes me dinner every night, works harder than anyone I know, and is the best father I've ever known. You asked me to be your husband and like an idiot, I said no. I don't regret us, My, or how we fell in love, or the two children we have. I just regret not proposing first." He opened his eyes and stared at Mycroft's. "Please marry me. I know I don't deserve it. I know I've been an arse but you are my everything and I have no other way to prove it to you. Please be my husband."

By the time Greg had finished talking Mycroft had tear tracks down his cheeks and onto his shirt collar. He nodded so fast that it was a miracle there wasn't a snap. "Of course."

John interrupted. "That's nice and all but I'm making the cut now." John handed a rag to Greg "Bite on it, trust me."

Greg nodded and stuffed it between his teeth. John took a deep breath before making the long incision. A muffled scream filled the room. Mycroft cringed at the sound and the pressure on his hand. Mycroft leaned over Greg and caressed his cheek, brushing away the tears. Greg was whimpering in pain trying his hardest to contain the screams.

"Greg, look at me." Greg begrudgingly looked at his fiance. "I'm right here, darling. Just keep looking at me." Mycroft felt something in him break at the sound of Greg's uncontrolled sobs. All he could do was smooth his hair and hold his hand.

Mycroft glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw what seemed like rivers of crimson blood. He swallowed hard containing his impulse to barf. He glanced between Greg and the blood spilling onto their mattress.

"Mycroft?" John glanced up, "Mycroft, you need to breathe, you're looking pale."

Greg could only hear static in his ears but felt odd at the blueness covering Mycroft's face. Mycroft shuddered and attempted to suck in a breath. "I- I can't." Mycroft's grip on Greg's hand was starting to slack. He also felt his vision going blurry and dark. The wound in his side was throbbing with intensity.

"Mycroft! Get it under control." John sternly stated.

Mycroft looked at him blankly. All he could hear was Greg's sobs, and all he could see was his blood. He looked down at himself, terrified to see a large stain spreading down his clothing.

John gave him an odd look and stared at Mycroft's hands. "Mycroft, whose blood is that?"

Mycroft looked at his hands surprised to see they were covered in blood. He didn't remember touching the wound. He must've been holding his side. "I'm sorry, John. It appears I have been shot." He slumped off the edge of the bed hitting his head on the nightstand in the process.

John began panicking, he couldn't do anything about Mycroft when he had both his hands occupied. He looked up to see that Greg had also apparently passed out from the pain. Which was probably for the best.

"Sherlock!" He screamed, "I need help!"

Sherlock ran into the room and observed the scene. He had abandoned John and Mycroft to care for Greg since Gwen was terrified. Now he was seeing that his choice might've been not good.

"Jesus, what happened?" Sherlock rushed towards Mycroft's limp form.

"He's been shot. I need you to find the wound and put pressure on it!" He instructed. "The ambulance should be here any minute."

"What about the head wound? He's bleeding all over the place!"

"Wrap it for now there's nothing we can do."

Sherlock moved into action. It was another five minutes before an ambulance arrived. Apparently, most emergency responders were attending to car pile up across the city. John wondered briefly if that was intentionally done by Moriarty. The emergency responders quickly removed Mycroft from the room and loaded him. Several others assisted John with the impromptu surgery.


	15. A Means to an End

Sherlock was situated between two hospital beds. One belonging to Gregory Lestrade and the other to his moronic brother. He was also cradling in his arms his very adorable nephew. The little baby looked more like Greg then Mycroft but he definitely had his brother's intense blue eyes. He was amazed at how small and innocent something could be.

Not to say his daughter wasn't small and innocent but she was definitely their child. Sherlock and John were both addicted to danger and thrived in chaos. Their child was proving to be much the same.

Mycroft and Greg's child was different. Greg was one of the kindest people on the planet and Mycroft had already essentially been a parent to Sherlock during their younger years. Sherlock just had a very good feeling that his nephew would be one of the most loved children ever born. He jumped at the groan coming from Mycroft's bed.

"Mycroft? How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft sluggishly opened his eyes and turned his head. His whole head hurt along with the slight pain from his side. He smiled when he laid his blurry eyes on the baby. His smile was doopy and he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Is that mine?" His voice was rough with disuse.

Sherlock nearly burst out laughing, "Yes, would you like to hold your son?"

Mycroft nodded sluggishly. Sherlock used the controls of the bed to put Mycroft in somewhat of a sitting position. He slowly passed the baby to Mycroft making sure that the baby was secure. Sherlock adjusted the pillows before sitting back down.

Mycroft felt overwhelmed with a suffocating emotion. He'd never known that he could love something so much. He loved Greg with all of his heart but this baby was his own flesh and blood. An innocent being that needed his protection and love. He wasn't aware that he had started to cry until Sherlock placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Mycroft, are you alright?" Sherlock smiled, "it's a lot isn't it?"

"His name is William Hamish." Mycroft dodged the moment, not wanting to get more emotional than he already was. "We figured that since you name your child after Gregory and I that we would return the gesture."

"He's going to be tormented for his middle name." Sherlock joked.

"Maybe, but his fathers are very scary people." Mycroft laughed.

"I should probably tell the nurse that you're up." Sherlock stood and moved towards the door.

"Could you bring me some water?" Sherlock nodded before closing the door behind himself.

Mycroft relaxed into the pillows just observing his son's curious eyes. He looked over to the bed beside him and felt sadness. He figured Greg would be awake by now. He allowed William to grip his tiny hand around his index finger. It was soft and full of comforting warmth. He leaned forward taking a long sniff enjoying the smell of a newborn. He jumped at the door opening and a young nurse entered the room.

"Can I take him from you for a moment? I just need to check your side and your head. Then I'll hand him back I promise." Mycroft nodded and reluctantly allowed the nurse to take William and place him into the plastic crib.

The nurse went about changing the dressings on his wound and his head. She pressed around the wound gently receiving a pained hiss from Mycroft. She stopped to retrieve a syringe from her pocket before gently inserting it through the I.V.

"It should help with the pain." She explained as she finished dressing the wounds and changing the I.V. bag. She used the bed controls to lean it back and before pushing the plastic crib directly next to the bed. "He's right here. Just rest, he'll be here when you wake up."

Mycroft nodded feeling his eyes grow heavy. As he drifted off he let his arm hang off the side of the bed allowing the baby to cling to his finger once again.

Sherlock wasn't surprised to see Mycroft back asleep when he came back with his water. He sat down hoping that John would come switch with him soon. He put a hand to his stomach knowing that in a few months he would be showing.

John had been so excited when Sherlock had told him that Sherlock had actually begun to cry with relief. He had felt so alone when he was pregnant the first time, and now he had a fantastic little family.

They still needed to find Ana before she showed up again but it didn't matter to him at the moment. He closed his eyes feeling extremely tired. He jumped at the shifting of the bed behind him. He turned to see Gregory blinking awake.

"Greg?" Sherlock turned and grasped his hand in comfort. "Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital? Where's Mycroft? Where's my baby?" Greg was drowsy and trying his hardest to form complete thoughts.

"Mycroft's next to you and so is your baby." Sherlock explained.

Greg opened his eyes and looked past Sherlock. "What happened to him?"

"He's alright. Shot in the side but he's okay. They're more concerned about his head."

Greg nodded. "Good, good." He started nodding off again. "He's dumb."

Sherlock laughed. "Yeah, sometimes I suppose."

"Can I hold him?" Greg asked but his eyes were closed.

"Maybe later. You need to rest some more." Greg nodded and promptly fell back asleep.

\---------------

John was annoyed as he led Mya into the hospital room. The annoyance wasn't so bad when he watched his husband's face light up with joy. The joy on his face melted a bit as he took in the expression on Mya's face.

"John, what happened?" Sherlock asked as Mya struggled her way out of John's grasp and launched herself into her father's lap.

"I was putting her down for her nap and she started screaming at me. She tried throwing her stuffed animals at me. I tried to calm her down and she wouldn't calm down until I told her that we would come to see you. For god sakes, she actually called me an arse. She seems to have picked up this habit of throwing temper tantrums to get what she wants." John settled in another chair feeling defeated.

Sherlock cocked his eyebrow at John.

"What?"

"John, you can't tell me you can't see it?" He put a hand in his daughter's unruly curls. "Who else does that besides you."

"I do not throw temper tantrums!" John stomped his foot in protest.

Sherlock smirked. "I'm sure she'll get some of my bad qualities as well. Don't get so butthurt."

"I'm not butthurt because I don't throw tantrums! You're the one who badgers everyone until they do things for you!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "That may be so, but you're the one yelling about it."

John snapped his mouth shut, realizing that this was an argument he wasn't going to win. Sherlock tapped Mya's nose with a little oink sound, making her laugh.

"Now, Mya Grace. We don't yell at Papa, or throw things." He explained. "We definitely don't call him names either."

"But Pa yells!" She protested. "He says fuck!" Sherlock sent a deadly glare at John whose expression was of pure horror.

"We don't use bad words." He scolded.

"But Pa used bad words." She pointed at John causing the older man to sink further into his seat.

"Pa isn't supposed to use bad words." Sherlock glared at John again. "Now how about this if I catch Pa or you saying bad words you both have to sit in time out."

Sherlock stood from his seat before setting Mya on the ground and grabbing her hand. "I'm taking her home. We're talking about this later." Sherlock left with Mya leaving John alone.

John sighed heavily and leaned onto his hands in a pout. He jumped as a stifled laugh came from Greg's bed.

"How long have you been awake?" John asked.

Greg cleared his throat. "Long enough to know you are sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Probably. Here, let me get the baby for you." John stood and slowly pried William's hand away from Mycroft's thumb before picking him up. "Are you in pain or anything?" John asked.

Greg huffed, "no, now please let me hold my son." John smiled and placed the baby into Greg's awaiting arms.

"God, he's so small." Greg pressed his hand to Williams. "Did Sherlock tell you what name we settled on?"

"No?"

"William Hamish Holmes."

John laughed, "oh god Greg, I wouldn't even name my own child Hamish."

"It's a nice name, John."

John shrugged, "if you say so. It's a bit unsettling that he's got Mycroft's eyes."

"Yeah, he definitely has that intimidating glare… just means he'll get all the ladies or men." Greg smiled and glanced over towards Mycroft who was shifting in his sleep.

"Has he held him yet?"

"Yes, Sherlock said he actually cried."

Greg smiled fondly at his sleeping fiance. "I hope he doesn't invite the prime minister to our wedding."

John laughed, "I'm sure all of the parliament will show up."

"Guess I better get a nicer suit."

Greg began to rock the baby as it started to get fussy. He glanced at John in a panic, unsure what to do or if he had caused the upset.

"I'll be back, the nurses have some bottles at the desk." John explained and dashed from the room.

The crying brought Mycroft from his slumber. The older man groaned at the incoming light and the noise. Realizing where the crying was coming from caused him to turn quickly. The moment made a shock of pain go through him and he slumped back against the pillows. He glanced at Greg feeling relief that his son was safe in his partner's arms.

"My, do you need a nurse?" Greg asked.

Mycroft shook his head. "No, I'm okay. Why is he crying?"

"John went to get a bottle." Greg explained, "you should've seen Sherlock and John earlier. It was eerily domestic. Except for maybe hearing a two-year old curse."

"She cursed?" Mycroft let out a dry laugh.

"She's got John's temper. She called him an arse apparently."

"Let us hope our child doesn't have your stubbornness." Mycroft chided.

Greg widened his eyes in offense. "Excuse me, what if he gets your attitude!"

"What if he inherits your cooking skills!"

"God help us if he has your sense of decor!"

John stood in the doorway with the bottle in his hand. "Um, am I interrupting something?"

Greg looked at John, his cheeks red with embarrassment. "No, sorry."

John shrugged and handed the bottle to Greg before taking a seat. "I'm glad you both are okay."

Mycroft relaxed back into the pillows. "It isn't like I haven't been shot before."

Greg looked up, startled. "You've been shot before?"

"There's a reason I don't do leg work."

Soon the echoes of a crying baby disappeared from the room along with John Watson. This left the new parents alone for the first time.

Mycroft cleared his throat awkwardly. "You know, Gregory, we have some beautiful children."

"That we do. I guess we'll probably need a bigger flat now. How do you feel about Sussex?"

"Darling, home is wherever you are."

"Okay, no need to be sappy."

\-------------------  
"Sherlock, how many times did she get tossed off the balcony?" Sally tapped her foot impatiently as she held open the door.

Sherlock smiled and shrugged. "I don't know whatever you mean. Did you come here for a reason Donovan?"

Sally scoffed, "yeah because there's a dead woman outside your flat and she had your brother's business card."

"Ah, well. It looks like a suicide to me, I wouldn't concern yourself with it too much." Sherlock slammed the door and pounced up the stairs. He ignored Sally's call coming from behind. John gave him a look of irritation when he entered.

"Sherlock, did you kill that woman?"

Sherlock plopped onto the couch causing the puppy to launch itself into his lap. "She tried to kill me first!"

John shook his head, "you did it for Mycroft and Greg."

"Don't be absurd, John."

John scoffed and turned back towards his newspaper. Sherlock smiled to himself knowing that that Ana woman was no longer a problem. Too bad she made the mistake of attempting to break in during daylight.


	16. A Wedding

6 Months Later

Mycroft couldn't have been any more nervous as he listened to the priest speak. He glanced into the crowd to see his parents. His mother as expected was in tears, and his father was clearly holding them back. He didn't really care about the faces of parliament or that the prime minister attended. He was totally entranced by the love he was feeling for one Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Well, Lestrade for now he supposed. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder for a moment. He knew it was Sherlock (his best man) encouraging him to speak.

"I, Mycroft Holmes, promise to cherish you always, to honor and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us." Mycroft smiled, trying desperately not to cry at how incredibly handsome his soon-to-be husband was. Greg dawned on a beautiful light grey tuxedo that complimented Mycroft's own dark blue one.

Greg was shaking. He'd done this before but this time it felt different. He was surprised that his father had attended. His father had made it well known that he in no way supported his relationship with Mycroft. He didn't really care though. If his father couldn't accept that he was happy, then screw him.

"I, Gregory Lestrade, promise to cherish you always, to honor and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us." The grip of their combined hands strengthened.

The priest knelt down to pluck the two rings from the pillow that Gwen was holding. He handed one to each man before stepping back.

"With this ring I, Mycroft Holmes, take you, Gregory Lestrade, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us." Mycroft slid the ring onto Greg's finger.

"With this ring I, Gregory Lestrade, take you, Mycroft Holmes, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us." Greg slid the ring onto Mycroft's finger.

The priest laid his hand upon their combined ones, "by the power vested in me you are married." The priest lifted his hand.

Mycroft and Greg both leaned forward into the sweetest softest kiss. They didn't really hear the crowd cheering, too invested in themselves. Sherlock gently tapped Mycroft on the shoulder and passed him, William. Mycroft cooed and rubbed his nose against William's. Greg joined and wrapped his son and husband in a hug.

John, who was Lestrade's best man, grabbed Sherlock's hand and led him out into the crowd where people began shuffling out the doors.

"Shall we," Mycroft offered a hand to Greg, "husband?"

Greg smiled before taking his hand. "Of course, husband."

\----------------

Greg had been pleasantly surprised that Mycroft was an expert at slow dancing. However, they simply swayed together as Greg rested his head on Mycroft's shoulder.

"You are my everything," Mycroft whispered loud enough for only Greg to hear him.

"I love you too." Greg simply responded.

The song seemed to end too soon. Which was a bummer but it was time to mingle with the guest. Mycroft looped his arm with Greg's and they walked through the crowd thanking them and conversing. When they came upon Greg's father, the young man froze in fear. Mycroft tightened his hold, sensing his husband's discomfort. Greg forced a smile as he approached his father.

Greg's father was a short man, with salt and pepper hair and plenty of wrinkles. Stress wrinkles for sure. He just had on a simple dress shirt and some slacks.

"I didn't think you were coming, Sir." Greg nervously searched his face for any sign of anger.

Mr. Lestrade placed his glass on a nearby table. "I wasn't, but I thought about it for a while. I realized that the last time I saw you were the happiest you'd been in so many years. I still don't completely understand, but I want you to be happy. Plus your mother would have my head if I didn't attend our only son's wedding."

Greg's mouth hung open in shock, "I- thank you, Sir. That means a lot to me and my husband."

Mycroft politely smiled, "good day, Mr. Lestrade. Thank you for attending."

A few yards away they spotted Sherlock conversing with his parents. They rushed over to ensure that Sherlock wasn't tormenting them.

"Mummy, hello!" Mycroft greeted, as he dropped his hold on Greg in order to give his mother a hug. "Hello, Dad." Mycroft shook his father's hand firmly.

Mrs. Holmes piped in, "Oh, Myc, I'm so happy for you! I thought for sure you'd never marry!" She grabbed Gregory and pulled him into a tight hug. "You are just the sweetest man! I'm so glad my son, has you! Little William is simply the cutest!"

Mycroft looked towards Sherlock who was mildly hiding behind their father. "Oh, Myc can you believe your brother?" Mrs. Holmes shook her head at her son. "He's nearly about to burst and he didn't even phone me!"

Sherlock grimaced, "I'm sorry, Mummy. It simply slipped my mind."

"For nearly eight months?" Mr. Holmes jumped into the conversation.

Sherlock straightened his coat. "My job keeps me very busy. Anderson and I have been experimenting with human eyeballs. Anyways, nice chatting with the two of you but must find my husband and daughter. John texted me that she was getting in a bit of trouble with the caterers." Sherlock waddled off into the crowd.

Mycroft shook his head at Sherlock. "Well, Mummy, me and Gregory must go speak with the rest of the guests."

"Very well."

Mycroft followed his husband across the room. Mycroft busied himself chatting with other government officials while Greg spoke with other members of Scotland Yard.

\---------------

Sherlock with his hands shoved into his pockets approached a seething John Watson and a laughing Mya Grace. He rolled his eyes at the all too familiar scene.

"What happened?"

"I'm telling you, Sherlock, she's impossible!" John exclaimed as he pointed to the chocolate covering their daughter's face and clothes. "I swear I turned away for a minute and I was suddenly getting yelled at by Angelo!"

Sherlock sighed before grabbing a napkin off a nearby table and crouching so he could wipe the chocolate off Mya's face. "You are just a little trouble maker, aren't you?" He smiled and gave her a pat on the head before standing again.

He looked at John who leaned against the wall in defeat. "John, why is it so hard for you to connect with her?"

"I don't know. She doesn't have any interest in spending time with me and when we do she gets into trouble."

"First of all, she's a toddler, she is going to get into things. Second of all, Mya loves spending time with you. Did you ever think that she acts out with you because she decided that you are the fun parent?" John gave him a confused look.

"I'm the fun one?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "obviously, I'm the one who scolds her, and makes her eat her vegetables."

John laughed to himself, "I'm such an idiot."

"You're not. Now can you please come with me to chat with my parents. They are relentless about knowing the gender of this little one." Sherlock pointed, annoyed at his large bump.

"What is the gender, sweetheart?" John asked as he hoisted Mya off the ground and over his shoulders.

"Why would I know? We agreed to keep it a surprise."

"You're Sherlock Holmes."  
\-------------------  
The wedding photos were taken outside the church in front of a large overgrown tree. After the photographer had taken several of just Mycroft and Greg they asked the wedding party to join them. Mycroft stood next to Greg with William in Mycroft's arms. Besides Mycroft was Sherlock with Gwen standing in front of him, and beside him were some of Mycroft's close friends from college. Besides Greg, there was John who had Mya standing in front of him. John was next to Anderson, Donovan, and Dimmock. Behind the ten of them stood Mycroft's parents, and other family members. Also in the back was Greg's father.

\-------------------  
Greg yawned and gently laid his head on Mycroft's shoulder. He gazed tiredly out the window looking at the passing pink and orange clouds of the sunset. Mycroft slipped his hand into Greg's, giving it a reassuring squeeze. They were exhausted from the wedding and just excited to get into bed. Mycroft sent Greg a concerned look.

"What's wrong, My?"

Mycroft smiled sadly, "do you think William is okay?"

"What? Yes of course. John and Sherlock are gonna do wonderful with him."

"Did we pack his blanket? What about his favorite teddy?" Mycroft asked as he was nervously picking at his fingers. "Did we leave instructions for the formula?"

"Of course we did, My. I know it's his first night without us but he'll be okay."

"Yes, of course. You're right I'm just being silly." Mycroft.

"No, you're just being a good dad." Greg gave Mycroft a simple kiss on the nose.

"What about Gwen, does she have her book?"

"Yes, Mycroft," Greg stated as the taxi came to a stop in front of their home.

Mycroft and Greg had moved to a fairly large house in Sussex that was hidden by a large overgrown forest. The two men got out of the car and made their way to the front door.

"Gregory, would you like to be carried through the doorway?" Mycroft offered.

"No, I think I'm good," Greg said as he unlocked the door.

They took off their shoes and went into the living room where Mycroft removed the cake topper from his pocket and placed it on the mantle. Their home was simple. The living room consisted of two armchairs and a large sectional sofa. The sage green armchair was Greg’s while the tan one was Mycroft's. Both chairs sat in front of the fireplace with a side table between them holding several novels and a lamp. The kitchen was modernized with a tall circular table with a mostly black and white color scheme. The study held two desks that faced each other with a large floor to ceiling window. Besides that, there were the kid’s bedrooms and the master bedroom.

"We should probably head to bed since Gwen's adoption signing is early in the morning," Greg stated as he removed his coat and placed it on the hook.

“I’d like to maybe sit down for a bit and just relax,” Mycroft explained as he fell into his armchair. “Do you mind turning on the fireplace?”

“Sure. I’ll grab some wine too.” Greg tossed a few logs in and lit a match before flicking it into the logs.

Soon both men were sitting in front of the fireplace sipping glasses of wine. Mycroft reached his hand over and placed it over Greg’s that was resting on the arm. Greg gave him a small smile before gripping the hand back.

“I got you a wedding present.” Mycroft spouted.

Greg laughed, “I don’t think that you could top being my husband.”

“I can’t, however, I thought that you might enjoy this. I poked around and found out that you were being considered for a superintendent position. I pushed a bit and you’re the front runner for the job.” Mycroft explained.

“Mycroft, you are so unbelievable and I love you.”

\--------------------  
Greg struck the T in his name and dragged it across to complete his signature. He stepped back and allowed Mycroft to sign his name on the next space. This completed the formal adoption process for Gwenivere Sarah Holmes.

The little redhead girl was in tears as her fathers turned around to face her. She'd never seen her father look so overjoyed since she met him that morning over a year ago. Her papa was nervous still, it was obvious he still wasn't sure that's what Gwen wanted. She stepped forward and embraced Greg in a tight hug.

"Thank you." She whispered.

The Watson-Holmes family stood nearby with John holding baby William. Sherlock stepped forward and handed an envelope to his brother. Mycroft gave him a confused look before opening it.

"John found it when we searched the house and declared that Gwen was always meant to be under your protection in the event that her parents shall pass," Sherlock explained.

Mycroft laughed lightly before turning towards John and plucking his child from his arms. Greg stepped towards his little family before wrapping them all in a hug. Gwen made a small squeak at the intrusion but cuddled into her parents.

“I love you,” Greg whispered.


End file.
